


Debted

by Blu3sc0rpion



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blackmail, Blood and Gore, Denial of Feelings, Domestic Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Face-Fucking, Forced Orgasm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Master/Slave, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Obi-Wan, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Sith Qui-Gon, Sith Sifo Dyas, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Valorum is still chancellor, peripheral cannon deviation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-05-19 02:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 96,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14865080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blu3sc0rpion/pseuds/Blu3sc0rpion
Summary: Extreme Non/con with referenced/implied childhood sexual abuse. Do not read if this triggers or offends you. You have been warned.Obi-wan and Qui-gon find young Anakin on Tatooine. Qui-gon is set on training him at all costs. Obi-wan doesn't know how to feel.





	1. Betrayal

Obi-wan was spent. He and his master had gone the last few days with next to no sleep. Between travel and taking care of the youngling they had plucked from that arid junkyard, among their various other duties and slaying a Sith lord in the midst of it, the days had blended together in what seemed to be eternity. Finally at long last they arrived home. After a routine debriefing with the council he would be able to go home and get some much needed rest. 

With the exhaustion settling in, Obi-wan admittedly had a hard time following the conversation, but he knew the gist of it already. Qui-gon was adamant that Anakin be trained. The council had their reservations. Obi-wan found that he couldn't much care, all he wanted was to be dismissed to go sleep. It wasn't so much that he felt tired, after a certain point one no longer really _felt_ tired. It was more of a heaviness that settled in over the body, a fog over the mind. Obi-wan was indeed feeling both of those things. The incessant chattering between the council and Qui-gon was beginning to rake on his fatigued nerves, bringing him to a elevated level of alertness. 

“You must see he is the chosen one. It is foolishness to ignore it.” Qui-gon implored, so far to no avail. 

_Typical Qui-gon, Obi-wan thought. If only he could shut his mouth we might be able to get some decent rest._ Obi-wan had never been particularly practiced in patience, even less so now that he felt on his last straw both physically and mentally. Yet he remained silent. He had learned to be completely obedient under his master's direction. It would not earn him anything to try to protest, especially before the council.

“Whether he is the chosen one or not doesn't matter. The boy is too old to be trained.” Mace spoke critically, shaking his head with a severely disproving look. Qui-gon never took well to being talked to in such a way. If there was even a perceived disrespect it would only solidify his resolve that much more. 

“I will take Anakin as _my_ padawan then, whether the it pleases the council or not. The boy is the chosen one, that much I am certain. He _must_ be trained as a Jedi.” Qui-gon spoke defiantly, as was his habit. He had never been afraid to speak his mind before the council. It set him apart from most other knights. Obi-wan was never shocked by his masters brazen demeanor, but the words he was saying caught him off guard, pulling him further from his sleep deprived haze.

Obi-wan looked over at his Master in disbelief, all traces of irritable fatigue leaving him, replaced by a cold sweat. Everyone knew each knight could only have one padawan. Qui-gon was already spoken for. He had _him._ Obi-wan tried to hide the hurt and shame that he felt welling up inside of his chest. _Qui-gon is throwing me away for some boy... he doesn't want me anymore..._

Obi-wan racked his mind trying to think of how he might have angered his Master, or done something wrong. His mind was so consumed by it he felt as if he were no longer really there at all, only his body remained. It felt like his world was coming down around him.

“Qui-gon, forget you do, a padawan you already have.” Yoda said, in an attempt to redirect the smoldering will that was burning beneath the mans skin. 

“Obi-wan has proven himself in every way. He is ready for the trials. No- he has _conquered_ his trials. He slayed a Sith lord, no less.” He turned towards Obi-wan with a look of pride that he rarely showed. 

Obi-wan would have appreciated it more if he wasn't trying to figure out where he went wrong. Besides, he didn't feel ready to be a knight. He knew Qui-gon was only proclaiming his competence for his own convenience, not out of honesty or pride. The man had a way of manipulating others through many means to bend circumstances to his favor. All Obi-wan could do was stand there, mouth agape as the reality of his masters words and their implications sunk into his mind. He blushed fiercely as he quickly averted his eyes away from his masters knowing icy stare.

The council members continued to drone on, with Qui-gon vehemently interjecting here and there. Obi-wan lost track of the conversation, or who was saying what. He stood there silent as could be, eyes transfixed on the floor beneath him, wising he could dissolve into the air and cease to exist.

He was sad, felt used and disposable. He was terrified, what would this mean for them now that they were no longer to be padawan and Master? Everything he knew had revolved around existing in the shadow of Qui-gon Jinn. He didn't know how to feel about being a knight. There was a time in his youth he would have been overjoyed for this moment. He had since changed greatly. He no longer had the foolish lens of inexperience skewing his judgment. Life had been the cruelest teacher at times. But nothing had prepared him for this. 

He should have hated Qui-gon. Truly he did some of the time. Other times he was simply grateful that he had plucked him from the Agri-corps, regardless of circumstances. Obi-wan had not been anyone's first pick for padawan, he didn't even make the list. He was not particularly strong with the force. He had been arrogant, impulsive, impatient, and pompously egotistical. All of the elements to make him anyone's least favorable option. Still, Qui-gon had chosen him. Although unlike Anakin, Obi-wan had not been chosen for his promise and potential, not in regard to the force anyways. It had nearly been entirely the opposite.

Qui-gon had agreed to take Obi-wan on as padawan under certain, conditions. Obi-wan had very reluctantly agreed. It was favorable to the alternative.

It wasn't as if he was forced to stay in Agri-corps. Any Jedi at any point was allowed to leave, and given enough credits to scrape by while they searched out a life of their own. It was a payment of sorts, for their service to the order- as if a lifetime of servitude and sacrifice could be summed up by any amount of credits. 

It would have been accepting defeat to take the payout and leave. It was a matter of Obi-wans stubborn pride that kept him toiling away day after day in the corps, until that fateful day when he had crossed Qui-gons path. He could still see the moment plain as day when he brought it to mind. Those ice cold eyes looking right through him for the first time. He had never felt so naked in his life. 

Qui-gon was a man who commanded a certain respect from others. He never had to demand it, the way he carried himself said enough. There was a tangible intimidating quality to the depth of his stare, the angle of his jaw, the broadness of his shoulders, that spoke to the animal part of your mind. You didn't have to exchange one word with him to know who held all the power, and who was truly powerless. 

Sometimes he was surprised when he looked back at himself, remembering all that he had gone through just to be a padawan. He told himself everything he would do, everything that he agreed to, in the end it would be worth it. His goal would be complete. He could finally be the Jedi knight he always dreamed of being as a small child. 

And now the moment had arrived, it all felt like a nightmare. It was never supposed to be like this. Being a knight was a sacred honor, one he had perused through blood, sweat, and tears among other things. It all would have been a bit less bitter were it not for the fact that Qui-gon had found someone better. Someone with _real_ potential. Someone that would be ten times more powerful than Obi-wan could ever dream of being- the _chosen_ one. Anakin was the padawan he had always wanted. All the feigned praise in the world would not make him feel any better. 

The spark in him that had put him on the path of knighthood had long since faded, eroded by the subservience Qui-gon had demanded over the years. He couldn't picture himself free from Jinn's grip. He was nearly shocked that Qui-gon would let him get away after all these years of possessive ownership.

Obi-was was so engrossed in his inner lament that he hadn't noticed when the council had dismissed them until Qui-gon was grabbing at his arm and leading him out the door. So much had changed in the span of only a few minutes. 

Qui-gon had gotten his way, that much had been predictable. Jinn always got his way in the end, one way or another. Obi-wan felt lost, adrift in the depths of uncharted space, terribly alone, afraid, unsure. He had walked into the chamber as a padawan, and left promised to knighthood. Yet he felt no better or stronger, as he had pictured he would. Actually, he was beginning to feel sick. 

Qui-gon lead him in silence to their shared quarters where Anakin was waiting for them. The child was eagerly awaiting the news from the meeting. The boy had such enthusiasm to learn, of course he did. He had spent his entire young life as a slave. The experience had to have been overwhelming him. Obi-wan did admire Anakins strength of spirit. It reminded him of himself when he had been young, before he had become indebted to Qui-gon. Before his master stole the jovial innocence that lit the tenacious flame behind his eyes.

When Obi-wan was that age, he had idolized the Jedi. They nearly didn't seem real. They were heroes that upheld the highest moral standards- maintained peace in the galaxy. As he grew older his idolization of the Jedi had become tarnished. It wasn't that he no longer wanted to be a knight, he did. It was all he had ever wanted. Only now, he could see the order for what it was, no longer blinded by inexperience.

Now he could see the darker side to the order, the one that was never talked about. The Jedi were not all powerful moral beings. Most of them did try to live a life by the code, but many of them had vices. Spice, drink, and gambling were the most common. For others it was attachments, if not to people, to ideals. Then there were the ones who searched out more base forms of satisfaction. 

He prayed that Anakin would never have to come to know this as he had. He may have been resentful of being tossed aside, but he wished the boy no ill will. Obi-wan had never thought harm upon anyone aside from Qui-gon. Even then, he only felt that way from time to time, when his Master was being particularly cruel. 

When the two of them arrived to their shared quarters, Obi-wan dismissed himself to his room without a word. Quickly he changed into his sleep clothes and crawled under the covers. In spite of his sleep deprivation, he wasn't really tired. He was however, completely emotionally exhausted. He could hear the small boyish voice from the other room excited and happy, so grateful to be accepted as padawan. Qui-gon was taking him on with no strings attached, simply out of his desire to teach him and watch him grow.

Obi-wan didn't try to stop the tears that beaded in the corners of his eyes. He couldn't help but feel obsolete. He wasn't ready to be a knight. He had never earned it. The only thing he was good at was being a door mat or foot stool for his Master. Yes, he could fight. Yes, with his Masters help they had defeated the Sith lord. None of it was his own accomplishment, although Qui-gon tried to pawn it off on him and act as if it were. 

He was ashamed that he was not happier. He should have been. This would effectively free him from any debt owed to Qui-gon, releasing him from their agreement, it shouldn't have mattered what had transpired to get him there. Being free from Qui-gon, that was a good thing on it's own. No more pleasing his master. He no longer _had_ a master. His shackles were unfettered. He should have felt free. He didn't. He had lived over half of his life in his Masters service, he didn't know how else to _be._ He felt even worse for it.

Obi-wan laid there, tears crusting the edges of his eyes until he fell asleep. He wasn't sure how long he had been sleeping by the time he heard the door to his room whir open, but the city lights were dim through his window. It was at least midnight, if not early morning judging from the scant traffic outside so he figured he couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours. He felt a weight shift on his mattress as a body climbed under the covers behind him. 

Obi-wan was instantly filled with rage. He sat up and sprang to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. There were so many things he wanted to say- his mind was swimming with jumbled up thoughts and words that had a hard time finding their way to his mouth. Instead he just stood there, shaking with anger, reeling in confusion, heaving for breath. 

Those hollowed eyes stared back at him, nearly entertained, as if all of this was some sort of joke and Obi-wan was about to tell the punchline. Kenobi opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself before he made a sound. He took to shirking away from the cold stare instead, uncomfortably looking at the floor searching for something, anything that would make everything go away. Still he was rendered mute. Qui-gon tended to have that effect on him.

There were no words to match what was churning inside of him. How could he even begin explain the noxious mixture of caustic emotion that was eating him alive? 

There was an abundance of hate. Hate for his Master, for the things that he had done to him. Fear for what he might do. 

Betrayal, and vicious repulsion towards himself for feeling it at all. Qui-gon had never cared for him to begin with to be able to _properly_ betray him. Obi-wan had assigned him a role of importance, because it was the only way to stay sane. 

He hated him, but he cared so much about what his Master thought of him it made him sick. Always searching for validation, craving for even an ounce of kindness that didn't have some sort of string attached. 

Qui-gon had proven time and time again how he felt towards him. Obi-wan was an object to him, a thing with a purpose. It still didn't keep his brain from warring with him over it. He wanted to love him, he wanted to so much. But how could he? 

What scared Obi-wan the most is the fact that he did. He loved his master, in spite of all the terrible things he put him through. He loved him and hated him all at the same time. But he could never say any of it. 

He even rejected it within himself. He couldn't love such a terrible man- it didn't make sense. He couldn't admit to his feelings, not a single one.

So he stood silently, still fixed on the floor, until his master grew bored. Qui-gon spoke in a wickedly lethal tone. There was only one word. 

“Strip.”

Obi-wan looked back up at him as if he had just tasted something foul. Suddenly words began to find their way to his lips. His trembling continued, only now out of raw fear. He knew he was already in a lot of trouble. He might as well assert himself if he was bound to suffer anyways. 

“ _No._ ”

“You know I never give orders twice.” Qui-gon looked at him as if he had just asked a question. Obi-wan knew his meaning. _Are you really going to resist me? You know I get what I want._

“This? It's _over_ Qui-gon... I'm not _yours_ anymore. You have a _new_ padawan.” Obi-wan said scornfully, cringing at his words, at how pathetic they sounded. But what he said was true. He was only his property so long as they were master and padawan. That had always been the arrangement, regardless of his feelings on the matter. 

He quickly regretted the words that left his mouth as soon as he had spoken them. 

Qui-gon skulked up from under the covers advancing predatorily on Obi-wan, eyes locked on him- boring into him. Obi-wan couldn't look away, couldn't run. He was cornered. Qui-gon moved in on him until only inches kept them apart. Obi-wan wished he could phase through the wall and fall to his death in the alleys below. Anything would be better than what was about to ensue. Because his mind told him he loved him, it made it that much more agonizing.

He hadn't been so brazenly rebellious against his Master since the very beginning. He had quickly learned that resisting would only earn him more punishment. Even when he was perfectly compliant, his Master often liked to be violent and rough with him. He took sadistic pleasure from his tears and whimpers, it only encouraged him more. 

Sometimes if Qui-gon thought he was being especially obedient, and if his mood permitted, he would reward him by being gentler, even sharing pleasure with him. Obi-wan wished he would just take what he wanted and leave. Those encounters usually left him feeling more confused and conflicted than he was comfortable with. It was better- _simpler,_ to feel pain. In pain it was easier to hate the man. Hating his master always made it easier afterwards, easier to live with himself.

There was a loaded silence that grew between the two of them as Qui-gon looked down coldly into Obi-wan's eyes. Obi-wan withdrew his gaze, knowing with dread what he had just gotten himself into.

Qui-gon moved a hand to gently grasp the padawan braid that fell so long past his shoulder. Obi-wan's breathing hitched in horrid anticipation, his whole body tense as he tried to brace against the imminent consequences of his defiance. A part of his mind wished he could lean into the gentle contact, but he knew weather he did or not, it would only be met with violence. At this point, there was nothing he could say or do to save him from that reality.

With the braid gently held in his fist, he brushed up against Obi-wans naked jaw line delicately, nearly passionately, as the man he towered over began to bead sweat at his brow. 

Qui-gon leaned in close. “Do you know what this braid means?” He spoke softly into Obi-wan's ear, lips grazing his flesh. It sent shivers down Obi-wan's spine. Obi-wan closed his eyes tightly as if it would help him disappear. 

_It means I'm yours._

The words echoed in his mind, unable to find their way to his lips. He felt if he even dared to breathe his Masters calm demeanor would be broken by the cruelty that lie beneath.

After a moment that felt like it would never end, Qui-gon yanked hard on the braid, pulling his head to the side straining his neck and hurting his scalp where the delicate golden chain anchored. Obi-wan didn't make so much as a sound, he didn't want to encourage his Master.

Still, Obi-wan couldn't find it in himself to say the words- to breathe life into the prison he had been living in for the past thirteen years. Harshly and without warning Qui-gon backhanded him, only hard enough to bring him to his senses. It stung, but it wouldn't leave a mark. Qui-gon knew what he could get away with, and where he could leave bruises. He quickly followed up with a barrage of solid blows to his ribs, sending Obi-wan doubling over into the chest of his assailant. 

The warmth of Qui-gon was repulsing to him, especially at times like this. He wanted to be anywhere but here, against the man who had hurt him so much, so many times, who was hurting him now. But in the moment, his lungs couldn't remember how to breathe. It was a powerful distraction from his aversion for physical contact with the man. 

Qui-gon took advantage of his incapacitated state to shove him towards the sleeper, bolstering his violence with the force. Obi-wan began to regain his breath, gasping desperately for air as he landed on his knees, arms draped over the side of the sleeper. He struggled to right himself, climbing up onto the mattress. Qui-gon swiftly kicked his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. 

Obi-wan felt like an insect, small and helpless. His master the tormentor. At this point Qui-gon was far past giving demands and expecting Obi-wan to heed them. Qui-gon was a very physically driven man. Now he would do what he wanted, take what he wanted, just as he always had. Obi-wan wished so badly he had just complied from the beginning. It was too late now. There was nothing he could say or do to quiet the tempest inside his Master. All he could do is be as submissive as possible and pray it would earn him a lesser punishment. 

Obi-wan lie on his back on the floor, where Qui-gon had put him as his master stood over him, undressing from his sleep clothes until he was bare from the waist down. He knelt over Obi-wans chest, dragging his manhood across his lower lip while pulling a fist through his hair so he couldn't move away.

“Since you seem to have forgotten, I'll remind you. That braid makes you _mine._ ” This time he spoke with a savagery in his voice that manifested in a low growl. Obi-wan opened his mouth in compliance. His Master grinned devilishly, forcing himself completely into the man beneath him with a satisfied grunt. 

“That's right...Just like that.” Qui-gon commended between quickening thrusts. 

He tried to stay silent but couldn't help but let out a few strangled sounds in his attempt to catch his breath. Qui-gons length was such that he couldn't breathe when he was fully inside of him. He tried hard not to gag against his masters length, if he vomited it would earn him harsher treatment. He became light headed after a short while and teetered on the edge of unconsciousness from lack of oxygen. Qui-gon never let him black out, although Obi-wan wished he would. It would have been a mercy he hadn't deserved.

Sensing Obi-wan couldn't take much more, Qui-gon withdrew from him as the man began coughing and gasping for air. 

“You dirty whore, what are you even good for?” He mused, slapping his face gentler this time than the last. Still it had a sting. He grabbed the mans shoulders, putting him face down beneath him on the ground. Obi-wan was careful to lie still. With a quick motion Qui-gon tore Obi-wans sleep clothes off and positioned himself atop him, probing at his entrance roughly from behind then pressing his length against it.

Without warning, and quite roughly, he thrust himself entirely into Obi-wan hard, slamming his face into the floor before he withdrew to slam against him harder. In spite of Obi-wans efforts he had a hard time keeping quiet, small involuntary whimpers escaped his throat as he clawed at the ground, sinking his nails into the carpeting of his bedroom floor. He hated feeling so pathetic, hated being used like a cheap slave. He hated every nose that he made, every time he braced himself for another thrust, he felt weak and humiliated.

Most of all Obi-wan hated being taken on the floor like this. Qui-gon knew it. It was intentional. He meant to degrade him and use him in all the ways he despised the most. It was more than physical, it was psychological. It made his heart ache in his chest, hot tears of shame leaking from his eyes as he tried to hold them back. He didn't want to cry, didn't want to give his master the satisfaction of breaking him so completely.

“If you think I'm ever letting you go... You're wrong.” He spoke as he neared climax, moving to hold him in a head lock with one arm, and an iron grip on his side in the other. 

_No!_

Obi-wan tried hard to hold back the tears that welled up in his eyes to no avail. He began to resist, wrestling against Qui-gons grip on him. He struggled but Qui-gon only beared down on him harder and with more force, his whole body weight pinning him down, arm constricting around his neck making it harder to breathe. Where his ribs were freshly bruised began to feel like knives stabbing into his tender sides. Obi-wan would have screamed if he could draw enough breath to do so, but he could barely breathe enough to whimper. 

Finally Qui-gon spilled deep inside him with a low guttural moan muffled by biting the mans shoulder. Obi-wan felt a sick relief. He hated the feeling of the man inside of him, but was consoled by the knowledge the worst of it was over. Or at least for now, he hoped. Once he was no longer pinned he curled up on himself and shut his eyes tight, hoping his tormentor would leave him now that he had taken what he wanted. He hadn't noticed until now, his whole body trembling still, this time from exhaustion and trauma. It took him even longer to hear the sobs that were coming from his throat. 

He jumped as Qui-gon made contact with his raw skin, cleaning him off with a moist warm towel retrieved from the fresher. “There there,” he said with the gentle soft voice from before. “That's not so bad now, is it?” 

His heart broke into pieces, just like it always did. He hated the duality of the man. His ice cold stare that froze his soul, his fire like touch, his body always radiating a sickening heat. The wicked words he would string together like daggers to flay his soul, the warm soothing tones that was supposed to console him. All of it left him in a cacophony of divergent emotions that ripped him up inside.

Obi-wan was repulsed by his Masters touch. Qui-gon always cleaned him up after he had finished using him, sometimes bathing him or tending to his wounds. He hated it.

“Come now, lay down in bed.” Qui-gon commanded with a soothing voice. It was an order easily taken. Obi-wan rose as quickly as his injuries would allow and climbed under the covers, his body out of view. It was a small measure of comfort, but anything would do right now.

Sitting on the edge of the sleeper, Qui-gon took to stroking his hair, thumbing over the edge of his face. The gesture was supposed to be endearing. It made Obi-wan feel sick.

“Please, don't” Obi-wan whispered coarsely. His throat was still raw from taking his masters cock. It hurt to speak. Tears still rolled down his face freely. 

“What?” Qui-gon spoke, amused again at such defiance.

“Don't _touch_ me...” His voice broke into sobs again. He hoped Qui-gon might just kill him, save him from all the misery. Of course his master was never so benevolent. He simply kissed him on the forehead instead, and settled under the covers on his side facing his weeping padawan. 

“You belong to me, Obi-wan. I will do with you as I please.” He spoke so matter of fact, as if it were such a simple truth. As if it were as undeniable, something uncontested. 

“You _promised._ You said when I was knighted, you would let me _go._ ”

Qui-gon settled in closer to him, placing a finger under Obi-wans chin, bringing his face up until their eyes were locked. His voice sounded sweet and kind, as if he were proclaiming love. His words were wicked and vile. “If you ever try to escape me, I will make Anakin pay for your mistakes.”

“No, you would never. He's the chosen one. You _can't._ ” Obi-wan was horrified, in shock. He wanted to believe that Anakin was too young for Qui-gon to lay a hand on him, but after all, he had been only twelve when they had made their agreement.

“Oh Obi-wan, but I can. I will.” Qui-gon knew Obi-wan's most vulnerable weakness- his tender heart for others. He knew Obi-wan would never dare leave if the boy's safety hung in the balance. As he looked into those terrible hollow eyes, he knew his Master was not lying. He couldn't even kill himself without Anakin paying the price.

Silent tears of horror fell down his face. He was trapped in this eternal prison, one where there was no way out, not even death. Not without having some other innocent suffer a fate meant for him alone, a fate he had agreed to no less. 

“Oh, but it's not all bad, is it?” Qui-gon chided as he reached down for Obi-wan's member. His body betrayed him, stirred by the contact. _It_ wanted more. _He_ wanted it all to stop. 

“No, please, I can't.” _No stop, I don't want this- please!_

“What's this then?” Qui-gon spoke of the hardening girth he held in his hand, slowly stroking him. It didn't take long for him to become fully erect. His master knew what he was doing, each movement and stroke was exactly what his body was yearning for. Through the force he could sense many things that made him an expert in bringing Obi-wan to orgasm. Those same senses were the means of the harshest cruelties he could inflict. 

Qui-gon moved beneath the blankets to take him in his mouth. He was already so close to orgasm, the soft wetness of his masters mouth was overwhelming, making him short of breath and light headed. He had only ever taken him like this once before, all those years ago when he was a new padawan. It had been a particularly rough transition for him to get used to a life of servitude. Still he wasn't truly used to it, but it had become familiar in a dreadful way. 

This, he was not familiar with. Most times when Qui-gon would let him cum, it was by forcing his physical sensations onto him as he was inside of him. It was rare that Qui-gon ever took interest to touch Obi-wan sexually for his pleasure. Mostly Obi-wan served as a sex object for his master. 

The novelty of touching him in such an intimate way assured a powerful reaction, one that was not easily ignored. His body reminded him of how his master could make him feel, how he wanted him, _only_ him. He hated how gratifying it felt.

Obi-wan's body was on the edge of release, he tried to stave it off, he didn't want his master to have the satisfaction of making him cum. He hated himself for it every time. He was just a toy to him, nothing more. But he was _his_ toy, he felt sick at how his pleasure swelled at the thought of it.

“No, please, stop...” Obi-wan begged, but his words sounded needy. His body was screaming for more, fighting it only made it feel so much better.

“No, I... I- _Ah!_ ” Obi-wan came powerfully, his master swallowing every drop he spilled. Waves of pleasure pulsed through him, leaving his aches and pains numbed and his ears ringing.

Qui-gon rose up from under the covers and began clothing himself with a smug look on his face. Obi-wan wanted to hide. He felt dirty, like he would never be clean again. 

Without so much as a word, Qui-gon left. Obi-wan was stuck in a hazy shock, pain slowly bleeding back into his senses. Then he remembered again. He was to be a Jedi knight. Things were going to change. But even more so, things would remain the same.


	2. Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-wan becomes a Jedi Knight. Qui-gon is sure to remind him of his obligations.

Obi-wan went before the council on his knees. His heart was pounding in his chest- echoing uncomfortably in his ears. He felt like he couldn't breathe. There was a strange sense of disconnect as he existed before them, without really feeling like he existed at all.

_Is this even real?_

He had dreamed of this moment so many times in his mind over the years. Everything he had ever worked and suffered for had been leading up to this- his supposed freedom. One knife delicately held to the cord of braid that symbolized his former self, swiftly and precisely sheared away.

He held the woven lock of golden hair in his hands. The moment was nothing at all like he had ever imagined. This was _supposed_ to mean many things. Separation between padawan and master. Knighthood. It _would_ have meant his independence. As far as his expectations were concerned, he found it devastatingly underwhelming.

_So this is it then._

The reality of what was happening hit him like a ton of bricks. He tried not to think about it. He tried to stay as removed as he could from what was happening, and how wrong it all was. He didn't want to embarrass himself by crying in front of the entire council. His eyes were already becoming dangerously full of unspilt tears that he struggled with every ounce of his concentration to stay. 

The best way to not cry was to feel nothing at all, so he put all of his sadness and fear deep inside himself. He could feel it later, there was no way to escape it in the end. Right now, in the absence of his heavy emotions, he felt as if he were in a living dream, like none of this was real. Perhaps he would wake up as a child again and realize all of this hell he had lived through was nothing but a terrible nightmare- an omen. Perhaps he would have a second chance at life, make different choices, take a different path.

But that was not the case, and there were no such thing as second chances. He had already chosen this path, already made pacts and arrangements. All of the ceremony and circumstance, the weight of it, felt numb and foreign to him as he floated above his body, as his subconscious took over control so he could have just an ounce of relief.

He saw the room full of smiles, looks of admiration. It felt like they were all pictures from someone else's life. If anyone had known, _truly_ known, how he had earned his way here, they would look at him with every bit of disgust that he felt towards himself. But he wasn't sad about it anymore, not here, not now. He even laughed within himself at the absurdity of it all. He was a fake- an imposter. A slave flaunting a Jedi's tunic and a Jedi's weapon, who slept in a Jedi's bed and lived in the Jedi temple. But he knew the truth, the one that only he and his master shared.

_I am no Jedi._

If he had any emotions left to feel, the thought would have brought him to his knees with grief. But right now he was no one. Just an observer. He saw his body rise, meeting Master Windu's eyes with veneration and pride. He saw his lips move and say words of thanks and gladness. None of it was real. Nothing was real.

Because it didn't mean anything. Nothing was going to change. He was still bound to his master, but not as a padawan. He wasn't sure if he had ever truly been a padawan. He had been a possession, a slave. One cord of braided hair was not going to make the difference of his freedom or bondage. He was eternally held in his masters debt, or so Qui-gon had told him. He wasn't sure if he believed it. The observer thought it was too much, that he had paid the price a thousand times over. It didn’t really matter because Obi-wan didn't know how to escape, or what to escape to. But all of it was just nonsense, a silly thing to dwell on. Because there was one unavoidable truth that weighed on him like the gravity of a thousand worlds.

_There is no escape._

From the space above his body, he can see a hand falling on his shoulder. His head turns to look into the cold eyes of his former master, his owner. He sees a face curl up into a smile, one that was grand and most certainly faked, for the eyes were still deep empty bottomless pits of black where a soul might have once been a long time ago. Or perhaps he came into this life without one. He couldn’t decide which one he believed to be true.

A voice catches his attention as he turns towards the small boy standing to the side of his tormentor. A cheery innocent smiling face meets him with kind happy words. Anakin. A young yet weathered soul who had undoubtedly seen too much suffering. He had lived the life of a slave. Obi-wan felt a pang of empathic heartache for the child, for all that he might have seen, all that he might have been subject to.

From a numb distance, he looked at him with a certain amount of jealous curiosity. He couldn’t help but envy him, as much as Obi-wan’s gentle heart could feel such an emotion. He did wonder what it might be like to truly be free- no longer a slave. He didn’t know if he would ever learn what it was to be free. Sure, he had memories of his youth, when his spirit was unbroken, when he had been wild and belligerent. It felt like another life, like another Obi-wan. It certainly couldn't be him. He couldn't relate to that boy anymore. He felt like a distant memory- a dream to haunt his waking nightmare.

The ceremony was over, and the crowd dissipated while Obi-wan's legs carried him towards his apartment. The one he still shared with Qui-gon, and now the boy, too. His thumb moved over the braid he still held in his hand. His stomach dropped and twisted as he began thinking of all the times Qui-gon had held the cord in his hand so posessively, to remind him of the contract he had been party to. How he had agreed to it all. He wanted to throw it away, the reminder of all the times Qui-gon had hurt him under the excuse of ownership.

As his feet moved one in front of the other, his mind began to imagine the different ways he could die. There were so many options. Falling, bleeding out, speeder wreck, suffocation, the list was endless. Out of everything in his adult life, it was the only thing that he might have any agency over in the end. The idea of exercising control over his own death gave him a sense of power. He hadn’t experienced anything of the sort during the last thirteen years as Qui-gon’s slave. The idea became attractively intoxicating as he entertained it more and more. 

But there was a big problem, one he couldn’t seem to work around. No matter how much he tried to devise an effective plan, he couldn't be sure Anakin wouldn't be hurt. By the time he had arrived at the apartment, he had thought of nearly every way he could do it, and he had come to the horrid realization that there was absolutely no way to kill himself _and_ keep Anakin safe. His gut wrenched at the thought of living, at the thought of enduring another night of Qui-gon climbing on top of him. He tried to stuff it all away. Now was not the time to let himself get caught up in his feelings.

Obi-wan walked towards his room, saying words to Qui-gon and Anakin about turning in early, about being tired. He tried to continue his show of smiles and happiness to maintain appearances. To try to hide the thoughts that boiled beneath. After all, he had just been knighted, he was supposed to be _overjoyed._ He didn't want Anakin to wonder about his sadness. He would have no way to explain it. How could he even if he tried?

Finally alone, Obi-wan crashed face first in bed, braid still held in his fist. Repulsed by it, he threw it onto the floor, a few tears of anger falling from the corners of his eyes. He was trapped- his room was a cage, his existence a curse. He didn't want to stay. He couldn't leave. He didn’t want to live. He couldn’t die. 

There was nothing to do _but_ stay, wait. Wait for the next time his master came to him. Obi-wan was afraid if he even left for a moment Qui-gon would use Anakin instead. His skin crawled as his tortured imagination projected horrific images into his mind’s eye that made him sick to his stomach.

He curled up on himself, stifling the urge to let out the sobbs and ragged screams that ached inside his chest. He would never understand his master, how he could be so cruel. Partially he was glad he couldn't understand. If he did, that would make him just as bad. But his heart was too kind to ever want to hurt anyone. At least if he had nothing else, he had his soul. That was one thing he wasn’t sure Qui-gon ever had possessed.

Obi-wan stayed fully robed, frozen in a ball on his bed for hours. Eventually the light outside dimmed, the traffic thinned out. Then, just like clockwork, his door opened slowly and quietly as his master made his way inside- just like he did nearly every night. Obi-wan wished he could have gotten used to it. He never did. It was always just as terrible. His master always seemed to find new ways to make him suffer that kept Obi-wan constantly on edge. He never knew what the next visit would bring, aside from the promise of more suffering and conflicted emotions.

Qui-gon settled down on the bed beside Obi-wan, running his hand through his hair ever so gently and softly, fingers trailing down his neck. Obi-wan wondered when he would get to it. He hated when he toyed with him like this. It was a mockery of tender affection that made his chest ache.

_He doesn’t love me,_ he told himself, trying to keep a level head. Trying to stay sane. Trying to get himself to completely believe it, fighting the part of himself that had been beaten into mental submission, the broken part of himself that told him this was the only form of love he would ever deserve.

"I brought something for you," Qui-gon spoke in his soft voice. Obi-wan had learned never to trust it. He was volatile, just as easily thrown into violence at the drop of a pin.

To ignore his master would certainly earn him nothing pleasant so Obi-wan sat up, rubbing at his tear-swollen eyes. He looked to see Qui-gon holding a golden circlet in his hand. Without a word his master picked up his foot and took off his boot and stocking ever so gently. Each motion was careful and intentional as if he were made of delicate porcelain and about to shatter at any moment.

With a slight manipulation of imprinted buttons on the inner surface, the bind unlocked it's self, hinging open.

"This is proof of your ownership. Proof you belong to me." He spoke sweetly still, clasping the circlet closed over his ankle and locking it in place. "Lest you forget again." He added, in a morbid tone that clashed with the softer voice like two fronts of a wicked storm.

Obi-wan sat there silently through it all. It took a great measure of self control to keep from screaming. His throat was sore with restraint as he tried not to make a sound, tried to keep his feelings to himself. It wouldn't do to say anything. He couldn't speak without either screaming or crying, or both. He took a deep breath instead, trying to calm himself. Trying to keep the pathetic fear from showing on his face, although he couldn’t help but to tremble.

Qui-gon was not content with his silence. It was obvious by the way his deathly stare pierced through him, by the way he was skulking over him. Obi-wan cowered in response, shrinking down onto the mattress, pressing his back against it as hard as he could to avoid physical contact with the monster that loomed over him.

"Aren't you going to thank your master?" He asked in a whisper as his silver hair fell over his shoulders, into Obi-wan's face as he came closer.

Obi-wan opened his mouth, but couldn't control his voice. "...Thank you... _Master..._ " His words were composed of pathetic squeaks from holding back so much. 

He wanted to cry. To scream. To break something, to crush and bash and tear anything he could get his hands on. He couldn't do anything but lie there frozen and hope Qui-gon would be gentler than the last time.

Quickly, Qui-gon moved a hand to circle his throat. Obi-wan's body was rigid in response, awaiting whatever his master had to inflict. But instead of applying pressure, his hand only rested there, while his face looked pensive and thoughtful. _Oh no this is never a good sign,_ Obi-wan thought with dread.

An expression fell over Qui-gon's face. Clearly, he had come upon an idea, one that brought a sly devious smile to his lips. A wicked smile- the only kind to ever reach his eyes. He stood up and began to disrobe entirely, then he laid out on the bed, reclining against the headboard. Obi-wan was still too terrified to say or do anything.

Lying there, hands clasped behind his head as he got comfortable, he issued the dreaded familiar command.

"Strip."

Obi-wan stood up mechanically and began to disrobe. This part had become routine to him over the years. All the same he hated the way his master would stare at him as he unclothed himself. He supposed it only added to his masters enjoyment of it. Every time Obi-wan tried hard to imagine he was all alone, that his master wasn’t devouring his body with his eyes, imagining all of the terrible things he was about to do and all of the pain he would inflict. He wasn’t sure how much his efforts ever helped him, it never made him feel any better.

" _Good,_ " Qui-gon spoke as he stroked himself slowly, eyes studying his naked form. He reached out a hand to retrieve a small bottle of lubricant from his clothes and floated it over to Obi-wan.

Qui-gon didn't need to say a word for him to understand what it meant. Shamefully he opened the bottle and thoroughly lubricated himself. It was a kindness to provide him with it at all, since most of the time he required Obi-wan use his own saliva as lubricant, which was not nearly as effective and had a tendency of drying out over time and becoming quite painful.

"Now come fuck yourself on my cock like a good little slave." His words were coarse and harsh.

Obi-wan began to sweat, his chest tightened and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He hated himself for the tears that fell down his face, hated himself for always breaking so easily in front of Qui-gon. It always felt like defeat when he gave in to his emotions. But now he couldn’t help it.

He wanted his master to just come and take him forcefully, just like he always did. He had never been ordered to do such a thing. The idea of crawling on top of Qui-gon made his knees weak with disgust. His mind wandered over all the ways he could kill himself again with longing, knowing that he could never act on any of it without Anakin taking his place. More tears fell at the thought of that poor tortured child taking on this burden. 

He felt like if he obeyed his masters command, it would be agreeing to it. It would be consent, validating the last thirteen years of hell. But if he failed to serve, Anakin still would suffer. 

Glancing up at his master in fear, his eyes held a plea that he did not dare voice. He knew he would be shown no mercy. Qui-gon clearly had no patience for his hesitation, as a lethality fell over his black eyes, violence swimming about his aura. Obi-wan knew what it meant. 

_I never give orders twice._

Obi-wan had no choice but to submit. Slowly, he moved over to the sleeper and climbed on top of his master. The dark tempest abated just a fraction as he mounted him. Sick chills of nausea and cold sweat pulsed through his body as Qui-gon emitted low grunts of approval. Tears still escaped his eyes silently as he moved obediently on his masters cock.

He wasn’t sure how long it went on for, he tried so hard to escape his body, to be anywhere else than here, where he felt so complicit in his own abuse. Every moan his master made had him feeling sicker and more disgusted. He was sure Qui-gon could feel every ounce of his reluctance, and was almost positive that he was drawing it out just to savor his pain. 

Finally as his master moved to grip his hips, moving him quickly on his length, he was nearing orgasm. _Please, just get it over with,_ he thought, like so many other times. Then he felt his master stave it off again. His heart ripped in his chest. 

_When will it end?_

“Touch yourself.” Qui-gon commanded him, voice audibly brimming with pleasure yet still stern enough for him to know it wasn’t a suggestion. Nothing ever was. 

Obi-wan did as he was told. Qui-gon writhed as he did so, drinking in the sensations that Obi-wan was feeling, as well as reveling in the feeling of being inside of him. 

With a jolt, Qui-gon pushed his own senses onto Obi-wans. Shamefully, he couldn’t help but gasp in surprise, overwhelmed by the flood of pleasure that was filling his body and mind. He tried to stop the whimpers of extacy from escaping his throat, mixing with his masters sick grunts as they both approached orgasm. 

He felt himself quicken his pace, riding his master with more enthusiasm, chasing his own pleasure. He closed his eyes, tried to pretend that he was with someone else, anyone else but the wicked man beneath him. 

_He doesn’t love me..._

Qui-gon suddenly and quickly threw Obi-wan down beneath him. Obi-wan found he didn’t mind, still stroking himself, body still welling with warm pulsing sensations that echoed throughout his limbs.

Abruptly Qui-gon shut himself off from him. It felt like someone had pulled a plug, the all consuming pleasure that had been pooling in him now only felt like a ghost of what it had been. He made an involuntary sound of disapproval at his master. Qui-gon was beginning to become slightly firmer inside of him, so close to climax.

He bowed down to Obi-wan’s ear, growling between labored breaths. “ _Beg_ you filthy slave. _Beg_ your master to let you cum.”

Reactively, without so much as a thought, Obi-wan obeyed. “Please master, please, please, _please,_ ” He continued to chant mindlessly, completely overtaken by the promise of pleasure. 

Qui-gon opened up to him again, overwhelming extacy thrumming through is body. There was nothing else. His voice trembled as he groaned, sensations hitting him hard. He found his hands gripping his masters hips, driving him harder inside of him, legs wrapped around him, pulling his body onto Qui-gon’s length. 

As the two of them came, their bodies pressed up against each other violently, thrusting and trembling, loudly crying out as the shared orgasm filled their senses. Qui-gon continued to lightly pulse inside of Obi-wan as he filled him up with cum, their two bodies slicked by Obi-wan’s semen that covered their chests.

The moment after, as the warmth bled out of their senses, Obi-wan felt nauseous, overwhelmingly so. He immediately ran to the fresher, heaving into the toilet, body shaking in a cold sweat. Qui-gon wandered in behind him, rinsing off in the shower without a word, or mention of what had just transpired. After clothing himself, his master left him. 

Obi-wan stayed like that, frozen on the fresher floor for a long time. Feeling completely repulsed by himself, utterly disgusted. He crawled into the shower and turned the hot water on until it was scalding hot. He curled up under the water, without the will to move until the water had long gone cold. After his skin felt numb, he quickly soaped up and dried off. He glanced at himself in the mirror, his lips a translucent bluish color from being so chilled. 

He put his sleep clothes on and tore off his bed sheets, replacing them and crawling under the new ones, shivering the entire time. He felt like he would never be warm again, but that was okay. When he was so cold, he wasn’t thinking about anything else. 

As the heat seeped back into his body, the knowledge of what he had just done ran circles in his mind, how he had been so complicit, so willing. It had never been like that before. Qui-gon always just took what he wanted. Now, he had leverage. If Obi-wan were to disobey, Anakin would suffer. So Qui-gon knew he could get him to do _anything._ Mostly he hated how much he had begged his master to let him cum, how he had truly been desperate. How much he had actually wanted it. Now he just wanted to lock himself away and never see anyone ever again. What he really wanted was to just die, to let it all be over. 

After how much he had loathed his master for all the ways he had ever hurt him, it felt like what he had just done had made everything his fault, more than it ever had been before. His heart was racing, he wanted to rip it out so that he wouldn’t have to feel any of this anymore, or ever again. He dug his nails hard into the skin of his arms, trying to distract himself from the shame of it all. He would have preferred being beaten to what he had just done. 

His mind changed to thinking about ways he might hurt himself. The thought of a blade tearing his flesh open felt comforting. He found the desire growing as he thought of it, blood pouring out of him, the warmth of it, how it felt on his skin. He moved from under the covers, towards the fresher in search of something that would suit his needs. He had nearly reached it, when the door to his bedroom opened again. 

What he saw immediately tore his thoughts away from his objective. It was the boy. Young Anakin. He had tears at the corner of his eyes. Obi-wan immediately flew into a panic, rushed over to him, kneeling to meet him at eye level. 

“What is it? What’s the matter?” Obi-wan asked, searching out his bright blue eyes, terrified of what the response might be. Petrified at the thought of Qui-gon laying hands on him. 

“I had a nightmare…” Anakin confessed, eyes cast towards the ground, feeling shameful for being so childish. Immediately Obi-wan felt relieved, his worst fears abated for now. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” The boy asked sheepishly, afraid of being rejected, visibly on the edge of bursting into tears. 

Obi-wan’s heart instantly melted. He had never had to take care of anyone, ever in his life. The way the child had approached him, so vulnerable, made his heart sing. A sharp contrast to his thoughts only moments ago. His mind was completely removed from himself, and now focused on the young child before him. The little soul who was asking him for comfort, who went to him in a time of need. Even though he had only been living with them for a few days now, Obi-wan found it interesting that Anakin had come to him instead of Qui-gon. He was glad he did. Obi-wan didn’t want to think about what Qui-gon might have done if that was the case. 

“ _Of course_ you can.” Obi-wan answered, a kind smile forming on his face. Anakin looked hopefully into his eyes. Obi-wan remembered when he had been so young, so innocent. Obi-wan felt a new feeling rise up in him. He was protective of Anakin. He had been before out of necessity, because he could never stand for Qui-gon hurting anyone out of retaliation to him. But now that Anakin was reaching out to him, opening up to him, Obi-wan felt that he might kill anyone who ever tried to hurt the boy. It was a new fire inside of him, it gave him strength. He wondered if what he was feeling would be a fleeting thing. He assumed it would be. Flights of emotion would come and go, but the way his master made him cower had been hardwired into him.

He didn’t think too much about it, as he crawled under the covers and Anakin followed him. Without so much as a word the boy snuggled up as close as he could get, burying his face in Obi-wan's chest as he curled up against him.

“Do you have nightmares often?” Obi-wan asked, noticing that Anakin was trembling.

“Yeah. Usually when that happens I sleep next to my Mom…But…” Obi-wan could feel the boy’s silent tears soaking through the thin fabric of his sleep clothes. 

“ _Shhh._ It’s alright. You can sleep next to me instead.” Obi-wan felt panicked again, not knowing how to handle or console a crying child. Every alarm in his head was going off. He felt lost, unsure of what to do. He wanted to help the boy, he wanted to erase all of his sadness, all of the pain. But there was little he could do. He would never be a substitute for the boy’s Mother. Obi-wan didn’t even know what it was like to have a mother. He couldn’t remember the faces of his parents if he tried. He didn’t even know their names. 

“I’m sorry... I know master Qui-gon says Jedi don’t have attachments, that I need to forget about my Mom. I don’t know if I can. I guess I’m not going to be a very good Jedi.” Anakin spoke critically. Obi-wan wanted to reach out and slap Qui-gon across the face for talking to him like that. It was different, coming into the order at such an older age. Easy for someone who has never known their parents, to say that Anakin should forget about his. Of course Qui-gon was not the pinnacle of love and understanding. 

“Never mind what your master says. It’s natural to love your Mother. You will still be a great Jedi who I would proudly serve beside.” Obi-wan said warmly and reassuringly. He meant every word of it.

“Really?” Anakin seemed surprised at his response, relieved that he had the choice to disagree with Qui-gon.

“Absolutely.” Obi-wan spoke with resolution, hoping to give Anakin some sense of peace on the subject.

“When I’m a Jedi knight, I’m going to go back to Tatooine and free my Mom, and _all_ the slaves. Qui-gon said I need to forget about it. But I don’t care what he says. He doesn’t understand what being a slave is like.” Obi-wan’s heart quickened at the boy’s words, as he became overly aware of the golden circlet that clasped around his ankle. He wanted to cry, but managed to quell the tears for now, shoving more of his protruding heavy emotions into the recesses of his mind for later.

“You would do well to forget about what he says in that regard.” Obi-wan spoke, but then recounted slightly. “But you must remember that he is your master. He only means the best for you.” He was afraid of what might happen if Qui-gon got the impression that Obi-wan was trying to undermine his teachings.

“I guess.” Anakin spoke, a hint of annoyance towards the idea of authority.

“I think it’s time to get some sleep, now. Good night, Anakin.” Obi-wan let out a yawn, realizing just how tired he really was.

“Night night Obi-wan.”


	3. Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-wan visits the room of a thousand fountains

Gold beams of light streamed in through the slitted blinds in Obi-wan’s window, falling onto his face gently bringing him to awareness. Although he longed to stay asleep even for a few more moments, his eyes pried themselves open instead. Just as always, the first thing he noticed was a general sense of unease that permeated his body. It was familiar to him, always feeling more pronounced right as he woke up. It was the dysphoric remembrance of his lot in life, the one that fell heavily over the shadow of his existence. The one that was impossible to escape. As the day wore on, the doleful restlessness quickly faded; muted by the monotony of it all. But for those first few moments, it was as tragic as it had ever been.

But this day was not the typical day. For all the things that remained the same, there was one thing that was different. Today, he was no longer just a padawan. Today, he was a Jedi knight. The thought of it both teased a sense of hope and pessimism that tangled together in a confusing knot that rested in the pit of his stomach uncomfortably as he weighed out his options.

He could fall into his usual routine, the one he had been rooted in for the better part of the last thirteen years. That would involve waiting around for Qui-gon to give him orders or assign him a task. The idea of it felt impossible to him now- he had had enough of that over the years to willingly and unnecessarily subjugate himself to it any longer. 

After all, just because he was still owned by his master, did not mean he needed to act like a padawan, he reasoned. It could end up looking suspicious. He didn’t imagine even Qui-gon disputing that fact. He was a knight now. Everyone knew it. It was time for him to start acting the part. With no specific plan in mind, he decided to go out and find something, _anything_ other than waiting for Qui-gon to order him around.

Obi-wan began to stir under his covers, stretching and yawning lazily as roused himself from bed. As he shifted, he noticed the weight of a small body under his covers, causing him to immediately remember the events of the night before. He had nearly completely forgotten Anakin had climbed into bed with him. 

His heart fell and stomach lurched as he realized he might have just gotten Anakin in terrible trouble. He cursed himself under his breath, how could he have been so stupid? In the midst of the boy saving him from his own self destructive desires, he hadn’t stopped to think about the consequences. _How selfish,_ he thought.

He didn’t have to ask to know that Qui-gon would not approve of letting Anakin sleep next to him. He didn’t like the idea of what his master would do if he found the boy sleeping here, especially if he wasn’t here to protect him. 

In an instant, a flare of bright anger burned through him. Anakin had just been ripped away from everything he had ever known, had even left his mother behind. He _should_ have been granted a bit of time to adjust, but Obi-wan knew better than to rely of his masters sense of mercy. He wasn’t sure if Qui-gon had a single drop of kindness in him at all. He seemed to always be looking for something wrong, waiting with some harsh and barbaric punishment to dole out for even minor offenses. The anger quickly burned out of him, changing to fear as his mind remembered too vividly all the ways Qui-gon could be so cruel. 

He turned towards the sleeper and gathered Anakin in his arms as quickly as he could while still being gentle enough not to wake him. Obi-wan walked towards Anakin’s room, careful to keep his stride even as he carried the sleeping child while keeping a brisk pace. Obi-wan carefully laid Anakin on his own bed, delicately pulling the covers over him. He turned to leave but lingered for a moment. His heart felt like it was being torn in half. 

The boy was so small, so innocent. Even if Qui-gon never laid a hand on him, the thought of Anakin being trained by such a heartless master made Obi-wan sick. Anakin _did_ have boundless potential. It was not as if Obi-wan could train him, he knew he would never be able to give Anakin what he needed to become the best that he could be. But for all of his power and knowledge, Qui-gon was _cold._ Anakin was already beginning to understand the heartless demeanor his master possessed. Obi-wan was unsure of how much Qui-gon would be able to get through to him. What scared him even more was the thought of Qui-gon ruining Anakin's kind and gentle spirit.

As he lingered, watching over Anakin as he slept, a sense of foreboding settled into Obi-wan’s body. He could feel it, a heavy sense of dread that spread through his chest and stomach, knotting his abdomen, making it harder to breathe. He couldn’t place a reason as to why it had come on so suddenly, but it seemed impossible to shake- fusing with his bones in an ice cold chill that had him trembling in his core. All he could do is observe it and wonder what terrible wretched thing his body was warning him of, and hope the feeling was wrong. 

He turned his back and shut the door to Anakin’s room, heart heavy with sadness. He wasn’t sure if it arose out of pity for himself, or the boy, or both. It melded with the icy chill that had taken him over, creating a sense of despair that congealed his heart causing a numbness that was both as empty as it was desistating. 

It felt like hell. He wanted to curl up into a ball and stop time to live out the rest of his days in the quiet serenity of solitary silence, where nothing could make him feel like this ever again. Where no one could hurt him, use him, or need him ever again.

Although he scarcely held the will to even move, he continued back to his quarters to dress himself and then headed off to wander through the temple- running from his own uncomfortable feelings as much as from Qui-gon.

One foot in front of the other. One second after the next. When his emotions began to settle, he began to feel uneasy in a new way entirely. For a moment he couldn’t even place a finger on what it was that was bothering him, but then as the fog of his mind cleared- it dawned on him. He wasn’t used to being able to go about freely of his own volition. Walking around by himself felt, _wrong._

Perhaps it was his overwhelming dependance on his master over the years. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t really liberated- not with the bind on his ankle. As he remembered the loathsome circlet Qui-gon had so posessively endowed on him, it began to feel too heavy. The perpetual reminder that he would never truly be free. Just the thought of it made him feel like sawing off his own foot just to rid himself of the wretched memento of his bondage. 

But still, even that wouldn’t change a thing. 

The truth of it hung in his mind, hollowing out everything else, becoming the only thing he could see- the only thing he could think about. He was so enveloped by it, he failed to notice the eyes that followed him as he brushed past people throughout the halls. His mind was completely transfixed on his wasted existence, and eventually even that fell out of him leaving him alone with only his sense of futility and terminal triviality. No words, no thoughts, only emptiness. His life was nothing. It was both the beginning and the end for him, all at the same time. It was the writ of him, inscribed on the fabric of the universe. He was born to be what he was. And he was _nobody._

By the time he found himself able to recognise his surroundings again, Obi-wan found himself standing before two giant ornately carved arching wooden doors. He hadn’t set out to end up anywhere. The fact that he stood in this place- one he hadn’t thought for many years- piqued his curiosity. He had to admit, it felt as if he had been pulled here by the force itself, as if it heard his tortured thoughts and responded. Several years had passed since he had been allowed to enter this room, although as a child it had always been his favorite place to be. He figured his love for this place had been the reason Qui-gon forbid him to go most of the time. 

Obi-wan’s heart began to race as if he were about to do something forbidden, something terrible. If Qui-gon knew, he would have disapproved. It took him a moment to remember- his master wasn’t here. His master was no longer charged to monitor his every move. It was a strange feeling. He wondered if he would ever get used to it. He was nearly afraid to.

In spite of all his internal alarms telling him to turn back, he placed a sweaty hand on the magnificent brass handle and pushed forwards. As the door gave way and he stepped inside, the sweet smell of foliage filled his nostrils. He stood there for a moment, in awe. In a happy sadness. 

Suddenly all of the years Qui-gon had stolen from him became more real. All of the experiences that he might have had, all of the things he might have been _spared._ Even simple things like this, things that he might have done. All of the potential of his young years were gone.

But here he stood.

There were bitter tears that he held back, a tightness in his throat that he fought against. It was a strange sensation, a euphoric melancholy. He remembered the first time he had seen it- the room of a thousand fountains. It was before he had been taken as a padawan, back when he was a youngling around seven years old. Master Yoda had brought his whole class in to run through meditation exercises. That was so long ago. So much had changed for him, but this place remained majestic as it ever had been. 

Obi-wan walked through the room, searching out his favorite spot. He couldn’t quite remember where it was, but before he could think too much about it, he found himself in the exact place he had been thinking of. It was as if the things that fell from his mind, his body remembered. 

And there it was, right before his eyes, exactly as he remembered. It was a tall waterfall that cascaded into a pool made of rockbed, surrounded by a generous variety of trees and bushes. There were sweet smelling orange colored flowers that blossomed near the base of the falls, smelling faintly of honey and roses. Obi-wan settled into a spot just at the bottom. The familiarity was both strange comforting. It felt like his memories of this place were someone else’s, or from a different life. They felt too wonderful to be his own.

He closed his eyes and fell into meditation, savoring everything with a sense of wonder, feeling as if he might not ever get the chance to experience these things ever again. As he went deeper, there was a sensation that he had long since forgotten. It was the air coming alive around him, humming with a warm vibrance that tickled his skin. It made his heart feel lighter, less burdened with all of the things that had been visited on his flesh. It was the feeling of raw concentrated light force energy that saturated the room.

Obi-wan did _try_ to meditate on a fairly regular basis, but practicing in this place was unlike a typical meditative experience. Here, everything not completely of the light was canceled out in its intensity. It was the feeling of the universe personified, existing in it’s nurturing presence, being enveloped in serenity. Nothing could hurt or wound here. For Obi-wan, it was an overwhelming sensation. 

He sank into trance readily and willingly, drinking it all in as if he could save some of it within himself for later- for when he would need it the most. As he beamed the light through his core he found whispers trailing through him with it. Voices that were strange, foreign and somehow familiar. He almost felt as if he had heard them in a dream. They were quiet, unintelligible at first- a cacophony of hushed mumbling. He felt pulled to it, drawn in by it, as if it was telling him to follow. He couldn’t help but oblige.

Obi-wan chased it, following it until he was so deeply entrenched in meditation that he could no longer feel his body. He existed only as his essence. It was rare that he ever achieved this level of meditation, as it usually took quite a bit of exertion and concentration. Now it felt effortless as he trailed after the mysterious voice that continued to take him further and further from himself. 

Finally as he came close enough, he found there was one string repeating, becoming more audible until the dissonance of voices synchronised into one united chorus.

_You are not a slave_

As the words entered him, they crushed him and held him together all at the same time. He felt his heart breaking a thousand times, the weight of all of the pain and suffering he had been put through aching in his chest and being pulled out of him as fast as it had manifested in the first place. It felt like the pain and suffering of too many life times rushing out of him quicker than he could comprehend what he was feeling or what was happening to begin with. Grief like a torrential river ripping out of him, the unburdening of so much darkness. 

Once it had all drained from him, he felt as if he were just an empty husk, a shell. Not so heavy, but not so much of anything at all.

_The chosen one, you must train him_

The new words filled a gaping void, where he once held so much pain and agony. Caring for Anakin had been his purpose before, but the idea of training him had been comical at best. He found parts of him resisting it; suspending belief. Something else deep inside of him latched onto it as truth. But now without his mountains of sorrows to weigh him down, it felt like more. It felt like _everything._ It was a breath of life to his shattered vacant soul. 

Obi-wan found he couldn’t manifest any of the questions that threatened to break his meditation, but they bounced around in his mind as he tried hard not to resist the light as it worked on him. He could feel it moving around in his spirit, reaching places he had long forgotten, putting pieces of himself back together again. It was awe inspiring.

It was _terrifying._

Deep within meditation, he searched and looked trying to find someone, anyone- trying to understand what was happening to him. All he could see was the gentle jade green orbs surrounded by a blanket of pure white. There was a faint scent, like cherries and sweet summer grass. Then there was that same gentle voice that hummed like a lullaby through him, moving him. 

Within it all, there was a feeling of empathy. Whatever- _whoever_ it was, they could see and feel every second of every torture in his life. Every tear, every drop of blood, every broken bone. All of the lies that had been carefully crafted to keep him in the prison of fear that had been built for him his entire young life. It all had him feeling extremely vulnerable, but the universe still held him in it’s gentleness, telling him it was all going to be alright.

Just as he felt the remnants of anguish might have left him completely, the lights died, gentle hues bleeding out to darkness all around him. Suddenly he found himself alone. The gentle voice that had been soothing him, the light that had been renewing him, was nowhere to be found. The warmth quickly drained out of him, leaving a familiar bone chill that felt like a sting at the heart of his soul.

Then he could see flashes. Horrible flashes, glimpses of things he didn’t quite understand. People, places, a pervasive feeling of darkness throughout it all. None of it made sense. But there was one thing that was too familiar, one thing that he would never forget no matter how much he wished he could. That evil pair of eyes, the ones that haunted him always- touched with a new shade of molten gold. A chord of lightning bolted through him, pulling him back into his body, chest heaving for air. His stomach felt nauseous as he collapsed on the ground below him, curling up into a ball.

He desperately tried to pull the light back into his body, tried to warm himself in it’s glow, but nothing seemed to work as well as he had hoped. Looking around to the falls behind him he tried to find solace in the beauty of his surroundings. Still, it felt like the light of this place touched everything but his aching soul. He felt as if he were cursed.

The reassembled parts of himself, the pieces that had been missing for so long, told him things he didn’t want to hear. Things that he didn’t dare even think. Things better left without words to voice them. He wanted to ignore it all, like if he could forget everything he had just seen, it wouldn’t _be._ If only that had been the way things had ever worked. The ice in his bones told him otherwise. It told him he couldn’t escape his fate even if he tried. And _he would_ try. 

_I should never have come here._

Still the bolder half of himself warred with him, while he desperately tried to lock that part of himself away. He had survived just fine this long without it, he figured. What good had courageous gallantry ever done him? None- quite the opposite in actuality. But still, it wouldn’t be bargained with.

Shakily, he pulled himself up off of the ground and brushed off his tunic. Usually his trembling would have been from fear, maybe even anger. Now, he felt as if he were going to explode. As if his world was imploding on him as the moments drug on. The serenity of the room he stood in itched like poison on his skin. He needed to move, to run. To do _anything_ but sit and act as if nothing had just happened. It was a vigor coursing through his veins that he didn’t know what to do with, surging adrenaline that spoke to the animal part of his mind and provoked him to act.

He wanted to run to Qui-gon and make him beg and plead for mercy from the receiving end of his saber right before he tore him into chunks of charred flesh. He could see the scene playing out in his mind vividly. He felt a sickening gratification from the thought. The strength of it surprised him, the violent urge was stronger than any that he had experienced in his life. It was not usual for him to be given to such inclinations. 

Of course, that was not a viable option. He decided the best thing to do was start walking. Perhaps his feet would take him to someplace useful, any place but here, _definitely_ not to his master. He walked briskly while attempting to keep his pace slow enough to not draw attention to himself, trying all the while to mask his emotions as best he could. 

It didn’t take long for him to find the practice halls. He sighed with relief when he found one of the dojo floors empty. Four walls with not a single being besides himself. It was exactly what he needed.

He began by running through each saber form in its entirety, not moving on from a form until he was content each move had been executed perfectly. It had been a while since Qui-gon had demanded he practice, since training him in forms of combat had never been his primary concern. Obi-wan found himself frustratingly unpracticed.

It took him over an hour to perfect form one to his liking before he moved on to the next. It was a practice of obsessive perfection and scrutiny that kept him fully involved for the majority of the day. By the time he had finished running through the seventh form his limbs were trembling from overexertion and each layer of his clothes had become saturated with his sweat. As he finished his last move, after a pause to pridefully recognise himself for what he had just accomplished, he collapsed to his knees in a tired soaking heap. His saber went clattering to the floor, rolling out of his grasp as his whole body ached and complained, his mind resting peacefully in the moment.

Eventually as he cooled down, his sopping wet clothes began to feel uncomfortably cold against his skin. It was nearing evening anyways, so he ventured back to the apartment. As soon as he walked through the door, Anakin was rushing to greet him.

“Obi-wan! Master Qui-gon says I’m going to get to pick out my very _own_ kyber crystal soon! Then, I get to make my own lightsaber!”

“That’s _wonderful,_ Anakin.” Obi-wan tried to restrain himself from laughing at the boys childish wonder and excitement. In that regard his exhaustion played in his favor.

“What color do you think my lightsaber will be?” Anakin asked, not even trying to contain himself, jumping on his toes with a sparkle of delight in his bright blue eyes.

“I’m not sure. I suppose you will have to wait and see.”

“I hope it’s blue, like yours!”

Obi-wan’s heart smiled. “Maybe it will be.”

Qui-gon skulked in from the back corner of the apartment, interjecting, voice calm and still and cutting all at the same time. “Blue is the most common. To wish for a blue saber is to wish for mediocrity. Green is the sign of a great force wielder. Although I suppose in the end the color doesn’t matter, so much as the skill of the one who wields it.”

Obi-wan didn’t need to look at his master to feel his piercing stare. Obi-wan’s muscles instinctively coiled, ready to lash out at Qui-gon. Half of him wanting to tear right through the man where he stood, half of him terrified to look him in his eyes. Instead, he stood there perfectly still, eyes still glued to the floor below him, anxiously waiting for the moment to be over. 

He couldn’t help but revisit the fantasy that teased him before, where his master would beg and plead for his life right before meeting his end. _If only it were possible,_ he thought, knowing it never would be.

“I don’t care. I _still_ want mine to be blue.” Anakin spoke willfully, completely ignorant of the beast that he stood mere inches away from. He might as well have been standing right next to a starving rancor. Obi-wan wanted to tell Anakin to be more mindful of how he addressed his master, but couldn’t bring himself say a thing. He could feel Qui-gon’s stare intensify as Anakin doubled down on his statement. 

Obi-wan stood there waiting for something terrible to happen as the moments drug on, however after finding themselves at a verbal draw, both Anakin and Qui-gon wandered away from the living room. Obi-wan took the opportunity to go to his room and peel off his damp clothes and hop into the shower before anyone tried to talk to him again.

After washing up, Obi-wan continued to let the steaming hot water pour over his back until his fingers and toes were wrinkly. Moving to step out of the shower, he jumped back in surprise, quickly and instinctively hiding himself behind the curtain. 

“Are you trying to scare me to death?” Obi-wan spat angrily as he took a deep breath, timidly eyeing his master up and down, afraid to look him too long in the eyes. Afraid of the boiling hatred that stirred for his master just beneath his composure, dangerously close to surfacing. Qui-gon offered him no verbal response to his query, only his usual icy stare above his empty smile. 

It was still too early for his master to be coming to him for pleasure- his stomach lurched at the thought. Obi-wan suspected there was something different, something specific that must have brought him here at a time like this.

Obi-wan reached out and floated a bath towel over to himself to dry off. All the meanwhile he studied the man in front of him, unsure of what the next move would be, knowing that it was bound to be nothing good. With Qui-gon it never was. Interestingly enough, he found himself more curious than fearful, although admittedly he was a mixture of both.

But as they stood in the stale silence, something inside of him broke. Or perhaps something rose up that had been long gone. Something given back to him. His stomach churned as his heart ached, knowing the black soul of the man who loomed before him. Knowing that person owned him made him sick with dread. But in that sense of apprehension, there was a resolve that he felt taking hold of him. It was almost more terrifying than the evil that stood before him. 

It called him to action, where he had once been conditioned into passivity and submission. From the center of his being he felt a sense of power spread throughout his body, every cell of him on fire with a new yet familiar notion. He had felt it before, but now with his master standing right there, it was real. The truth came alive in him like never before.

_I am not a slave_

As if Qui-gon heard the words that sounded inside of his mind he took one menacing step forward, then one after another, cornering him in the shower. 

“Get _away_ from me.” Obi-wan commanded, shocked by the sturdy tone in his voice, even more so by the realization that he was never going to let his master lay a hand on him willingly ever again. He didn’t have it in him to allow himself to be used anymore. 

Usually he would have been trembling to the core. Indeed he was shaking, but mostly out of rage. It was as if he could finally see the man before him for what he was, for what he had always been. Somehow, someway, he felt the realization within itself should have made a difference.

Still, Qui-gon did not change his course. He was close now- _too_ close. Reactively, Obi-wan used the force that pooled around him and unleashed it at his master, pushing him violently. 

What happened next, happened very quickly.

A gripping pain seared brightly around his ankle followed by a crushing blow to the back of his ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He fell limply into the tub, fragments of crushed and shattered tile falling onto his naked body, the dust of it burning his eyes. A warm trickle of blood ran languidly down the back of his skull, matting his hair, trailing over his shoulder and mixing with the pieces of broken tile that scattered over his chest.

Air rushed back into his lungs sending Obi-wan into an uncontrollable coughing fit as his body tried to remember how to breathe again. His mind was foggy, working hard to remember everything, attempting to piece things together in a way that made sense. But nothing made any sense.

Qui-gon towered over Obi-wan, sneering down at him while pulling up his tunic sleeve, revealing a matching golden circlet to the one that was locked on his ankle. Obi-wan’s stomach tied in knots as the reality of his situation began to settle in. Half of himself was embarrassed he hadn’t seen things for what they were earlier. He had been blinded by his newfound bravado, for all the good it did him. The other half of him was screaming in full panic, realizing with incapacitating fear what he had just brought on himself. 

“Oh Obi-wan... You didn’t think I would let you out with any... _insurance,_ did you?” Obi-wan had nothing to say. Again, there was the underlying feeling of betrayal that he could only laugh at internally. Was it betrayal when he had done nothing but manipulate, use and deceive him since they had met? Still, it stung all the same. A look of bitter resentment fell over his face that he used to mask the terror that gripped his heart.

Still unpleased by the lack of response, he continued, this time more gruffness in his voice as he came even closer. “And _look_ at you,” Qui-gon mused, black eyes roving over Obi-wan’s naked body. “I sensed it when you came back from practice, such confidence for such a _coward_. Such foolishness. _Pretending_ to be a Jedi knight. It’s only been one day and already you're letting yourself believe it.”

A raw hatred fueled rage took Obi-wan over, drowning out all fear for the demon that stood before him. He had _earned_ his way to knighthood. He couldn’t let his master take it from him, even if only by claim. He stood up to face Qui-gon, not a shred of his fear escaping through the pure righteous anger that filled his veins. 

“I _am_ a Jedi knight!” Obi-wan shouted loudly, proclaiming for himself if no one else. His mind told him he should be more cautious, more yielding, reminded him of what most certainly was awaiting him after all of this. He tried not to think about it, tried not to show his wavering resolve as his master cut through him with that horrid glare.

Qui-gon’s voice took on a familiar deathly tone, the one that filled Obi-wan with panic, although he tried desperately not to show it, he suspected the mask of strength was fading. “You’re no knight. You’re a glorified slave who has forgotten his place.”

_I am not a slave!_

Tears beaded at the edge of Obi-wan’s eyes as he resented every hint of emotion that he failed to stifle. “No!” His voice began to betray him as well, cracking and breaking. 

“You’re a slave and a _whore._ ” Qui-gon declared darkly, reaching out to trap dark coils of the force around Obi-wan’s throat, lifting him from the ground. 

Obi-wan frantically tried to breathe but failed. Quickly he felt his body numbing and going limp. _Finally,_ he thought, awaiting the promise of black, empty peace. Just as he felt he might lose consciousness, his body was violently thrown to the other side of the room, through the door, tumbling and crashing at the foot of his sleeper. He found himself coughing and gasping for air yet again, bitterly wishing for the unconsciousness that would have been so sweet in comparison.

Qui-gon walked towards him, unfastening his belt and losing his pants as he did. Obi-wan tore and clawed his way from the monster that was headed towards him, desperately trying to put as much distance between himself and his master as he could. Shameful cries and pleads tore out of him as he tried so hard to evade the inevitable. At the start of all this, he thought he might actually have been able to fend him off, to get away. He cursed himself for being so wrong, for giving into such blind delusions of grandeur. 

He couldn’t even defend himself. How was he ever going to be able to defend Anakin? The thought stabbed at his heart viciously as he found himself trapped in the far corner of his room with no escape.

Qui-gon chuckled as he neared closer to him slowly, savoring each moment. “I expected something like this sooner or later, but I have to admit this was quite the surprise. I didn’t realize you were so stupid to think you could _actually_ get away from me.” Qui-gon knelt down, his body towering over Obi-wans. His cold rough hands felt like sandpaper on Obi-wan’s skin as his master tried to get him face down. Obi-wan resisted, curling up, kicking and punching at him, still not giving in so easily to his master’s will. Qui-gon only laughed as he reached out through the force and easily pinned him down. 

Obi-wan began hyperventilating, tears blinding him as they fell over his face. This had happened so many times before. Something about this time felt especially terrible. There was a sense of defeat that sawed through his heart. 

It felt like something was being taken from him. He wished he could just be empty, so that there was nothing left for his master to take at all. For the most part, that’s how it had become for him over the years. 

He remembered that voice, that kind gentle voice. It all seemed so cruel now. He hated it, hated that he had been handed any hope at all, but in anticipation of everything that was about to happen to him, those treacherous words filled his mind. 

_I am not a slave, I am not a slave, I’m not-_

“You are,” his master spoke, slapping the side of his ass then firmly gripping him, leaving purple marks behind and red trailing nail marks. Obi-wan wanted to move away from him, to move at all, but he was still glued in place. The more he tried to fight it, the harder it became to breathe. 

Qui-gon lowered himself on top of him, pressing himself against his entrance. “You are _mine._ ” Without warning he slammed himself into Obi-wan, earning a yelp followed by whimpers and pleas for mercy. Qui-gon only answered him with more thrusts, each more violent than the last, accompanied by satisfied grunts.

His master’s hands gripped him harshly, leaving bruises wherever they wandered. Obi-wan tried to focus on something else, anything else. Tried to not feel his master all over him, inside of him. Tried not to hear the sick sounds and strings of evil words coming from his master’s mouth. 

It was harder than usual, for him to escape to some place else. Eventually as the moments drug on he found himself thankful for the raw sensation of carpet burns forming over his body where his skin made contact with the ground. They were bright and distracting, easy to absorb himself into. The stinging sensation turned to fire as his master pressed him harder against the floor. He had long since stopped trying to move, it only made it so much harder to stay sane. Although sanity was something he lost quite some time ago, or so it felt. 

Eventually, Obi-wan lost his sense of how much time had passed since he had been frozen in place. There had been a spot near to him on the floor where the feint sunlight had shone down, but that had long since faded as the sun set across the sky. The skin that had been rubbed raw now only felt swollen and numb. Qui-gon had spent himself multiple times. Obi-wan lost count after the seventh. 

Where he once found it hard to escape, now his mind was simply broken and empty. The traces of himself that had been given back had been taken away just as easily. He was trapped in all manner of ways. The parts of him that still had the ability to put words together told him he had been foolish to ever think he could win against his master. Every second was a cruel reminder of that fact. 

After what felt like a small eternity and several more orgasms for his master, Qui-gon pulled himself off of Obi-wan and released his force hold on him. Obi-wan didn’t so much as move a muscle. He didn’t really believe it was over, he felt like it would never _truly_ be over.

Qui-gon turned Obi-wan’s limp body over, tracing fingers over the bloody spots on his shoulders and hips where his skin had been rubbed away with an interested expression on his face. Obi-wan stared at nothing, eyes listlessly trained on the air before him. Qui-gon brushed his knuckles over the side of Obi-wan’s face, thumb falling over his cracked dry lips. Obi-wan screamed inside of himself, only a single tear falling from his eye to show what lie beneath. 

With a satisfied hum, Qui-gon hoisted him up in his arms and carried him to the fresher, setting him down on the rug while he quickly cleaned up the tile fragments before placing Obi-wan in the tub and filling it with warm water. Qui-gon made quick work of cleaning him up, drying him off, and placing bacta on his wounds. All the while not a word was said between the two of them. 

After he was finished cleaning him up and caring for him, Qui-gon placed Obi-wan under his bed covers and pulled them up over his battered body. Softly, he climbed on top of the covers beside him and began to pull his fingers through Obi-wan’s hair, tousling it playfully. 

Qui-gon nestled his lips near to Obi-wan’s ear as he spoke softly and sweetly. “Who do you belong to?”

Obi-wan’s throat tightened against the words as they came out of him, intrinsically reacting against them. “You, master,” he whispered quietly.

“That’s right.” Qui-gon purred in his ear, planting a kiss on his cheek, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. Obi-wan’s chest filled with a heavy dread. He hated how much he loved these gentle touches, how Qui-gon knew it. How his master could switch between brutalizing him and crooning him in an instant. It wasn’t fair. 

Without another word, Qui-gon withdrew, leaving him alone to stare at the ceiling for hours, waiting for a sleep that would never come, that wretched voice filling his mind with so many pretty lies that his foolish heart wanted so badly to believe.


	4. Mosaic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-wan reaches out for help

Obi-wan stood before the grand doors to the council chamber frozen with indecision. At this point he had lost track of just how long he had been standing there. Time had a way of slipping from his grasp quite often, seeming to be something intangible. He knew it was there, that it governed the majority of _other_ people’s lives. He understood the concept just as anyone else, but his relationship with it had always been skewed. It was too easy for him to slip away and get caught up in his own thoughts only to realize large portions of time had come and gone without him having the sense to feel it’s passage.

Right now although the number of hours escaped him, he knew it had been a _significant_ stretch of time, nearly taking up the whole day. All the while he was locked away in the confines of his mind deliberating. 

It was a sort of mental gymnastics, trying to come up with the right words in the right order, wondering how he would manage to stay calm enough to say any of them, feeling pathetic for even thinking to voice any of it at all. He felt trapped by the words that formed and dissolved in his mind over and over, an inescapable chill creeping over him as he imagined them leaving his lips, never to be taken back ever again. It was almost as if to breathe life into them would make all of the gut wrenching things that had happened to him even more horrific, that if he could only keep quiet about it all, it might not be so bad. 

But as time escaped him, he knew with each moment he so carelessly threw away, he was putting both himself _and_ Anakin in danger. It should have made it easier to take action, but somehow it felt like lead in his veins, weighing him down making everything feel so much more impossible.

Still, the hour was quickly growing late- soon the sun would be setting. He could already see it falling near to the edge of the horizon through the transparisteel windows of the council reception hall. Soon his master would be searching for him. His stomach tied in knots at the thought, making his attempted plea for help feel even more hopeless than it had all day.

He knew master Yoda had been in session with a few of the others, he had seen them go in as he had been stalking outside the chamber, pacing to and fro, waiting for them to arrive, then trying to work up enough courage to make his move once they had. He had hoped that perhaps some of them would have noticed his presence by now and approached him. Even then, he couldn’t have said if it would have been any easier. Mostly likely not, he thought. Soon, either his master would find him, or the council would end their session and all of them would wander off leaving him to face the nights atrocities _again._

It didn’t help that all the while that same voice remained, playing over and over in the back of his mind on loop, as if to remind him in case he forgot it’s message. He had heard it so many times it was all he could think of between anxious planning on how and when to approach master Yoda, and the thoughts of what would await him if he failed. 

But this time, failure was not an option. _Never again,_ he vowed to himself, muttering the words under his breath, clenching his sweaty palms into trembling fists as he recanted. He wasn’t a slave. He wouldn’t be treated as one. He couldn’t do it anymore, he couldn’t immagine serving his master even for one more night. Too many times he had been pushed to the brink of sanity, too many times he had been used. 

_Never again._

The thought of it bolstered his resolve just enough to throw a gust of wind in his sails. Just as he felt he might have had the strength to walk through the doors, he heard voices inside growing louder as footsteps approached. The session was over. 

Obi-wan’s tenor left him quicker than it had arrived as he scurried away from the doors to appear as if he had been meandering down the hall, instead of looking as if he were lurking right outside. 

His face grew hot with nervous tension as he rushed off, instinctively begging for the various members of the council to walk right by him, to treat him as if he were invisible, just as they had done most of his life. As much as he had planned to seek help, he didn’t really know _how._ He knew how to act like everything was fine- it was so much easier. It was all he knew. 

He began to grow angry with himself at the thought of how he had done nothing but stall all day, only to give up so easily. The weight of it pulled him back into his personal hell of conflicting emotions, fear, anger, disappointment all emanating through him loudly- _too_ loudly. He cursed that haunting voice. It always seemed to lead him in impossible directions against insurmountable odds. Between the restlessness and the voice that had etched itself in his mind, he felt as if he were going mad. Perhaps he had lost his sanity long ago, only clinging to a fragment of it, if anything at all.

As master Yoda approached him, Obi-wan was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice his presence, or the words that were coming from his mouth. It was only after receiving a sturdy rap from Yoda’s gimer stick to the shin that he was able to escape his thoughts and return to the moment. As Obi-wan realized master Yoda was waiting for a response to a question he had completely missed, he stood there in an awkward silence instead, furiously blushing as his mind filled with too many doubts and fears to be able to come up with anything to say. 

In response to his silence, Yoda began to eye him suspiciously, placing a hand on his chin contemplatively as he studied him. Obi-wan’s body tensed anxiously as he felt the animal urge to run away, to do anything other than talk to master Yoda about anything, but it was already too late. 

“Distracted you are, young Kenobi. Much to speak about, I sense you have?” Yoda spoke kindly, as if he were a very young child. Obi-wan hated it. Yoda no doubt could feel the waves of fear and anxiety rolling off of him. The thought of master Yoda pitying him made him sick to his stomach.

Although Yoda’s words were meant to be consoling, soothing even, they seemed to have the opposite effect. The voice in his mind grew louder, reminding him of it’s truth. His own doubts seemed to be much more powerful. Doubts in himself as much as the entire Jedi order. The fear that even if he reached out, he might not be believed, or _worse,_ perhaps they might just ignore him outright. He wasn’t sure what he might do if that were to happen.

If he opened up to Yoda, he would have to accept the reality that he might not get the response that he was hoping for, not that he really knew what that was. In taking that risk, he would become vulnerable, more so than he was comfortable with. “In private, you wish to speak?” Yoda continued, motioning towards a small council conference room just down the hall from where they stood. 

A mixture of relief and apprehension took him over. He felt like he was about to do something terribly stupid, something nearly impossible. At the same time he didn’t feel like he could do anything, much less move his feet towards the room that Yoda had set out towards. His feet felt solidly glued to the floor where he stood. For a moment he didn’t believe he even had the strength to move them at all.

Before he had too much time to worry about following him, Obi-wan heard solid footsteps nearing the chamber from the hall that lead down to the apartment wing. He was too afraid to look in their direction, but didn’t need to see to know who they belonged to. Fear flared about Obi-wan brightly, a sense of hopelessness engulfing him while he looked toward Yoda helplessly as the little green Jedi master turned back towards him. 

He must have sensed the heightened fear coming from him, or at the very least saw it written all over Obi-wan’s face. Or perhaps he wondered who might be trekking towards the council chamber at such a late hour. Either way, Yoda looked back at Obi-wan, then towards Qui-gon as he hastily approached, a look of interest falling over his wrinkled green face.

Obi-wan froze, too scared to turn back and look at his master, completely mortified to the situation that unwound before him, afraid to even breathe. All the meanwhile cursing himself for getting himself into this predicament in the first place. 

“Master Qui-gon, late it is. What is it that brings you here?” Yoda spoke with an even tone, no emotional inflections in his voice.

“Obi-wan and I had some business to discuss, I’ve been looking everywhere for him.” Qui-gon spoke with a friendly tone in his voice that would have passed for genuine to anyone who didn’t know his true nature.

“Found him you have. Although about to talk in private, we are. Go to you after we are finished, he can.” Yoda’s words made Obi-wan cringe with horror, for what it might mean for Anakin if he did make him wait. 

Suddenly, all of his anxious fear fell to the background of his consciousness. It was still there, and it was screaming quite loudly, competing with the gentle but pervasive voice that had continued to drone on endlessly. But Anakin was more important than anything. It gave Obi-wan a sense of focus that seemed to channel all of his fear and adrenaline into a forward motion. 

“No, that’s quite alright, I completely forgot about our engagement. I’m afraid I will have to catch you at a later time, master Yoda. Please forgive the intrusion.” Obi-wan spoke, giving a formal bow as he turned towards the apartments, walking at a quick pace before his master that trailed behind him. He tried to steady his trembling, hoped that Yoda wouldn’t notice his unsteady tone too much, or perhaps that he would dismiss it easily. It was highly unlikely. Caustic acid churned in his stomach painfully as he walked away, his masters eyes searing into the back of his skull with mal-intent.

Obi-wan’s change in demeanor had Yoda extremely suspicious of him as now, he didn’t even try to hide the skepticism that bubbled to the surface of his expressions as he watched the pair of them stroll away. 

As they ventured down the corridor towards the apartments Obi-wan’s mind began to race, running through scenarios, anything to get himself and Anakin away from their master. The moment they were behind closed doors, Qui-gon was bound to lash out at him. It was obvious Qui-gon had known what he was trying to do. There was no sense in trying to lie to him about it, it would only end up much worse. After their last encounter, Obi-wan didn’t want to think about what horrible thing he might have in mind. Surely he would find a way to make it so much more cruel, he always did, especially when he was punishing him for an offense such as this. 

His mind rejected any of it as possibility, converting all fear into fuel. It felt terrifying, and also strangely empowering as he continued to devise a plan. He _had_ to find a way to get out of Qui-gons grasp before it was too late. With his master trailing so closely behind, it would be all about timing.

That meant it was all about speed, about who could get to the apartment first, he reasoned. Quickly, before he even had much time to think of what came next or to overthink what he was about to do, Obi-wan went into a full force dash towards the apartment, reaching it only seconds before Qui-gon who had quickly followed suit. The locked door only delayed Qui-gon the amount of time it took for him to manipulate the mechanism through the force, roughly five seconds. Enough time for Obi-wan to rush into Anakin’s room and lock the door, giving them another five seconds. With generous amounts of adrenaline surging through his veins, it was more than enough time for Obi-wan to make his next move.

Obi-wan made quick work of cutting through the steel wall of the dorm, creating a small port, just big enough for Anakin and himself to fit through. Without enough time to wake the boy up, he gathered Anakin in his arms and jumped through, just as Qui-gon tried to scurry after them, hand only missing Obi-wan’s cloak by inches. Even his master’s attempt at force suspension was no match for the speed of velocity at which they were falling. Being so wrapped up in the rush of it all, so engrossed in the feeling of their small victory, he had nearly forgotten, they were _still_ falling. 

_Right._

Quickly zeroing in on a speeder that would intersect their path, Obi-wan cushioned their impact as they fell into the back seat of their target vehicle. Anakin woke up abruptly upon impact, completely disoriented and freezing, still only in his nightclothes. He wrapped himself up in his arms and looked up at Obi-wan with a look of concern and worry- but not fear. The boy must have been through quite a lot for something like this not to jar him more than what he appeared, Obi-wan thought with a tinge of sadness.

“Wh-wh-what’s g-going on?” Anakin spoke through chattering teeth, lips turning pale from the harsh wind that ripped through the night sky. 

Obi-wan quickly took him under his cloak, warming him with his own body heat, sheltering him from the harsh gusts. “No matter, it’s all going to be alright.” Obi-wan said in a soothing tone as much to himself as to the boy, still unsure exactly how he would explain this to Anakin. Although admittedly, that was the least of his problems for the moment.

“What the hell are you _doing?_ ” The rhodian driver looked back at the pair of them, then back at traffic, continuing to toggle his starry eyed gaze between the two. “I ought to call the authorities! Jumping into the back of someone’s speeder like that, you’re completely _insane!_ ” 

Obi-wan restrained the smile that tugged near the corners of his mouth as a few strange tears of disbelief welled at the corners of his eyes. Indeed, he felt _quite_ insane. Everything about the last few moments was insane. But in the midst of the uncertainty of it all, Obi-wan felt more whole than he had since he could ever remember. The pieces of himself that he thought were certainly lost again fuzed themselves solidly with his broken parts, transforming him into one whole man- a mosaic of sadness and bravery, pain and strength. 

It felt odd, but it also felt right. For the first time that he could remember, he had a sense of agency, that he could do for himself. It didn’t even feel like he was living the same life. For a moment he wondered if this was all just some dream that he would wake up from to resume his tortured existence. 

All the same, they weren’t out of this mess yet. There was still much to be done before he could consider any of this a real victory. There was too much that could still go awry, and many ways he might find himself in the grasp of his master yet again, this time Anakin suffering along with him. The rush of victory turned bitter in his mouth as he thought of it. He could never let that happen. He _would_ never let that happen. Dwelling on defeat would only make it harder to avoid, he decided, putting the darker thoughts out of mind for now, willing his mind to stay focused in the moment.

“You will take us to the nearest public transit station.” Obi-wan spoke, employing the art of manipulation that had always been his favorite to practice. He was a bit embarrassed to admit to himself just how excited he was to be able to practice it in the field. As much as being on the run from his master could be considered _in the field._

It worked like a charm. “I will take you to the nearest public transit station,” the rhodian echoed in monotone, the flicker of anger leaving his expression.

“You will tell no one of this encounter,” Obi-wan added, trying to be mindful of the need to cover his tracks.

“I will tell no one of this encounter.” _Perfect._

It didn’t take long for them to reach their destination. Anakin had been completely silent the entire time, Obi-wan thought it must have been because he was so cold and shaken still from being so rudely awakened. He wondered what must have been going through the boys mind. There would be no easy way to explain this all to him. Telling him the truth would be more than Obi-wan was capable of. Undoubtedly Anakin was bound to draw his own conclusions, he thought with a pang of shame. 

Quickly, they made their exit from the speeder before the driver came aware. Obi-wan still held Anakin close to him beneath his cloak for warmth and modesty. The first order of business would be getting the boy dressed. The next would be finding a way to get rid of the force inhibitor that was bound to his ankle. So long as he was saddled with it, he would never be able to confront Qui-gon and win. And of course, he was coming for them. Obi-wan had no doubt about it. He would find them, too. It was only a matter of time. Obi-wan was determined to have that be on his own terms, rather than that of his former master’s. 

Everything they needed, including a sense of anonymity, would be in the lowest levels of the city- just a turbo lift ride away. The terrain worked to their advantage, it was easy to get lost in the lower levels. Just as easy to lose anyone who might be in pursuit, due to it being absolutely crawling with all manners of life forms, from human to humanoid to the more exotic varieties like water dwellers in breather rigs and species that Obi-wan thought he might have never seen before. 

Thankfully due to the large quantity of street vendors on every corner, It didn’t take long at all for Obi-wan to find Anakin some clothes to layer on top of his sleep garments. It wasn’t the most comfortable of garb, but it did put some color back into young Anakin’s face and quelled his shivering. As Obi-wan helped Anakin climb into his new clothes, he couldn’t help but notice the look of concern on his young face. 

His chest burned with hate, all anew. Hate for his master, for pushing him to this. Hate for himself, for dragging Anakin into this with him- not that there seemed to be any other way. Anakin didn’t deserve this, being toted around the lower levels of Coruscant, fleeing in the middle of the night, no explanation as to why. For a slave treatment like this would have been commonplace. But Anakin was not a slave. Neither was he- _not any more,_ he reminded himself. The best he could do for either of them was assure that they would never have to be ever again. 

Obi-wan gave Anakin a pat on his head, tousling his hair while he gave a reassuring smile that Anakin returned without hesitation. Obi-wan had to stifle tears of sadness for Anakin. So young and already so full of an endurance that could only have been earned through the hardest of trials. And he still held on to his innocence, his kind heart. Obi-wan wanted to make sure Anakin never had to suffer again. Not that life wasn’t akin with suffering now and again, but never like he endured on Tatooine. Nothing like Obi-wan had ever experienced at the hands of his former master. Anakin was young, his life was full of promise. Obi-wan was intent on giving him every opportunity to succeed. 

As they headed a few levels deeper into the city, Obi-wan set onto the next order of business. This would be the harder part. It would involve dealing with the more undesirable types. The kind of beings who would rather rob you blind than lift a finger to help you. Feeling a sick sense of dread fill his stomach, Obi-wan hoped they would have better fortune. Only time would tell.

To start he would have to find the slums. It proved to be difficult at first, since it all looked very slum like to him. But as the scenery changed from market vendors and bars to dark alleys and strung out spice fiends littering the edges of the streets, he had a feeling he had reached the right place to start asking around. And with all of the possible onlookers being more than likely spiced out of their right minds, the chance of someone remembering their faces was next to none. Any public surveillance would most likely be broken or damaged in this end of town. All of it would work to their favor.

In the back corner of an abandoned loading dock, he found the most likely target for his query. A young yet weathered looking zabrak wearing tattered rags as clothes, a newer looking messenger bag slung across his chest. He certainly looked like he had most of his wits about him, so if he was using he was at the very least, _mostly_ cognisant. All the signs of someone who was open for business. 

Obi-wan approached him, letting go of Anakin’s hand and signaling him to hang back a bit. The boy heeded his unspoken commands with perfect accuracy, still not saying a single word, his eyes careful to not rove about too much in case he see something he wasn’t supposed to see. The manner in which he came to be so prudent still pried at Obi-wan’s heart. But still, there was no time for that right now. They had to keep moving, stay alert. Anakin was doing everything he needed to be doing to keep things status quo. Obi-wan needed to keep his mind on track as well. 

Surprisingly enough, he didn’t have to struggle _too_ much to keep the gnawing horrid thoughts at bay. When Anakin’s safety hung in the balance, he felt like a different person. Like a _man,_ instead of the broken pleasure slave he had been for too long. 

Obi-wan approached the would be dealer slowly yet assuredly, keeping a hand near his saber for good measure. “You look like a man with connections, someone who could help me find something i’ve been looking for.” Obi-wan spoke with a discreet tenor in his voice to convey he wasn’t to be trifled with.

“Everything for a price,” the zabrak spoke sly, eyeing Obi-wan down as to judge how much he could shake him down for.

“Price is no matter. I’m looking for someone who knows how to work with force inhibitors,” Obi-wan said, studying the reaction of the young man. “More to the point, how to _remove_ one.” He added in a quieter tone for discretion, hoping Anakin wasn’t catching his meaning, but knowing better than to believe that was the case.

“Yeah I know someone, I could connect you, but I would need a little something. A… finders fee, if you will. Payment for services rendered, you understand?” the man spoke, tilting his head to the side with a spice induced swager to his movements.

Obi-wan reached into the pocket of his cloak, withdrawing a few credits. “50 credits will suffice,” he spoke, interjecting his persuasive skills to ensure the transaction went as smoothly as possible. 

“50 credits will suffice,” the man repeated flawlessly monotone.

“So tell me, where _can_ I find someone who would be able remove a force inhibitor?”

“Block 309, level 7. Scruffy black hair, scar on his face, one eye, red overalls, goes by the name of Harpy. You can’t miss him.”

“You will tell no one of this transaction.”

“I will tell no one of this transaction.” With a grim smile and a nod, Obi-wan turned away, taking Anakin’s hand again as they walked towards the nearest turbo lift to descend deeper into the city. Level 7. Obi-wan had never been that deep. It was the cradle of filth and treachery of Coruscant- the underbelly of the black market. Of course it made perfect sense for someone who dealt in force inhibitors to be working so deep in the city.

After the turbo lift ride there was quite a bit of a trek ahead of them to reach their destination, just a tad over eighty blocks. It wouldn’t have felt like so much if Qui-gon wasn’t hunting them down, every second getting closer and closer to their location. Obi-wan could feel his haunting force presence manifesting in a chill across the back of his neck and prickles down his spine.

It certainly didn’t help that the air of the wretched place was eerily still and silent, punctuated with a few screams and cries here and there all steeped in pain and sadness, a pervasive darkness enveloping it all, twisting Obi-wan’s stomach with dread. So much suffering. It made him want to save all of the poor souls trapped in this place and leave the evil ones to wallow in their own misery. But he had not come here to rescue these people. He came to rescue himself. To protect Anakin. Right now, that’s all that could matter.

As they pressed on, they made a habit of checking corners of alleys as they entered and exited, making sure no one was tailing them. Through it all Obi-wan couldn’t help but think. Anakin was hearing, seeing, _everything._

The realization of it sparked a fear deep down within himself, one that was heavily laden with shame, constricting his chest with panic. Obi-wan regarded with horror, the thought that Anakin might not ever look at him the same ever again, not after all this. The kind and happy young eyes sparkling with innocence and life, the little soul that had reached out to him for comfort when he was scared, the youthful joy and smiles he freely gave to him, all of it might be gone. Turned to distrust, revulsion. Just the thought alone deeply distressed him. The thought that he might lose the only thing that mattered. _A problem for another time,_ he thought. He willed himself to stay in the moment again, putting all else in the back corners of his mind for later.

Finally, they had made their way to block 309. Once they arrived it didn’t take more than a few moments to spot Harpy. Obi-wan found him comically true to description. He successfully stifled a laugh at the man's ridiculous appearance as he walked towards him purposefully. 

“I was told you’re the man to see about removing force inhibitors.” Obi-wan spoke low and quietly, face hooded and arms fully hidden beneath his robes. Anakin hung back still as instructed, still careful to keep his eyes low.

Harpy looked at Anakin, then back up to Obi-wan and chuckled as if there was some sort of joke that only he knew about. “Sure, _sure._ I can do that for you.” He spoke with a languid pause in between words. “How you going to pay?” He added more gruffly.

“I have credits. Payment won’t be an issue, just name your price.”

The man looked down at Anakin, then back up at Obi-wan, laughing a bit more this time. Obi-wan wanted to shove the man up against the wall and ask if he thought losing a limb would be as funny, but restrained himself. However the fact remained that time was constantly moving, and every second that he had the bind on his ankle, he was vulnerable, meaning Anakin was as well.

“What about the boy?” The man spoke coarsely, nodding his head towards Anakin.

“What _about_ the boy?” Obi-wan echoed nearly in disbelief, a furocity quickly taking him over as he glared into the man’s single sunstained eye with deadly intent, core trembling with rage as every part of his body yearned to be unleashed at the disgusting life form that stood before him. A sick knot twisted and heaved in his stomach as he thought of what the man was alluding to, only the thinnest veil of willpower keeping him from striking him dead where he stood.

“No credits, just fifteen minutes…” He spoke groping himself grossly as he stared hungrily at Anakin.

Not a heartbeat later Obi-wan had the man pinned up against the wall, unlight saber pressed firmly against the man’s temple, thumb poised on the ignition as he growled low in a voice that didn’t sound at all like his own. “At the press of this button, I can release you from your sorry mortal existence. I would even be doing the galaxy a _favor._ ” 

Obi-wan took a nauseous moment to contemplate how many children this monster had hurt over the years, then quickly took to relishing the thought of killing him. The flash of his saber lancing through his skull, the thud of his lifeless body falling to the duracrete below their feet. Obi-wan couldn’t suppress the disgusted smirk as he entertained the idea. It was nearly _too_ tempting. He would have been surprised about the murderous impulses that taunted him, but it was Anakin the monster wanted. Obi-wan would do anything to protect him. 

But this was a shade past defense, several shades darker in fact. It was something more, something _personal._ But he didn’t care. Every fiber in his being was aching to kill the man that cowered under his grasp. 

But time wasn’t stopping for him. Qui-gon would still be looking for them, getting even closer as they stood here. As much as his pent up hate begged to be unleashed on this slime, he simply didn’t have time for it. 

“But you’re in _luck._ ” Obi-wan spat in disgust, a tangible disappointment staining his voice. “I need your services. Credits will be the _only_ form of payment. You so much as look at that boy again and I will sever you in half. Do you understand?” He said, sneer of repulsion across his face as he still pensively lingered on the tantalizing thought of ending the filthy creatures life.

Harpy shook his head rapidly in response, too afraid to speak. Obi-wan released him from his grasp in return, still eyeing him with contempt. Shakily brushing off his jumper and without a word, Harpy guided Obi-wan into the unit to their left, Anakin following after them silently. Trailing through dimly lit damp and dirty hallways, they eventually came to a small workshop. The space was littered with different collars and binds hanging on the walls with the tools needed to repair them in various boxes and benches scattered about the place.

“So where is it?” The man asked timidly, afraid to make eye contact with either of them anymore as he glowered at the ground beneath his feet.

Obi-wan stood for a moment in silence, heart overwhelmed with too many horrible emotions. He hated this man, hated the fact that he needed his help. He was terrified. Terrified for Anakin to see him like this, to see the bind that their master had bestowed on him, even more horrified for Anakin to draw conclusions as to what it all meant. Within it all was the seed of self hatred, how much he despised himself for letting everything get so far, for letting himself be deceived by their master. For ever thinking that Qui-gon would let him go. 

“My ankle,” Obi-wan said shamefully, heart pounding in his ears. Still, Anakin was obediently silent, eyes cast to the floor. Obi-wan was thankful he didn’t have to contend with whatever questioning or saddened gaze Anakin would have to offer. He didn’t think he had the resolve to fight the tears that would ensue if he did. 

Harpy pulled up a chair next to his desk and motioned for him to sit. Obi-wan did as directed, placing his ankle on the desk before him, unlacing his boot and tugging up his leggings to reveal the evidence of his bondage.

“Wow, really fancy model. Only seen a few of these pass through my hands in my lifetime.” Harpy spoke immediately regretting it. He could see it on the man’s face, the memory of the one he sold it to. There were only so many people in Coruscant who sold them after all. Force inhibitors were outlawed except for use in republic detention facilities. To even possess one was a crime within itself. Due to the nature and cost of their manufacturing, they were extremely hard to come by. Obi-wan tried to not focus on it, although it only added to his intense hatred for the man. He could hardly stand his fingers brushing against his skin as he worked on the anklet. Every cell he came into contact with screamed murderous thoughts, only amplified by his own shame and self loathing.

“Aaand, voila! There you are.” Harpy said, anklet hinging open. Obi-wan took a relieved sigh, rubbing at the place where the cuff had left marks on his skin. At last, for the first time that he could recall, he was free. Truly free. Well, nearly free. There was still Qui-gon to deal with. He hadn’t quite worked out how he would handle him yet. 

Pulling down his pant leg over his ankle and making quick work of lacing his boot, he retrieved a handful of credits from his cloak and tossed them on the table, sending them scattering about the room. “Here is your _payment,_ ” Obi-wan spat, watching in disgust as the wretched being got on all fours to collect all the bars as the clattered about on the floor as he and Anakin turned to walk away. 

Just as Obi-wan left the room, Anakin quietly shadowing him, Obi-wan paused. A flare of sick rage took over his senses. Without giving his impulse a second thought, and with much satisfaction he reached out through the force, coiling around Harpy’s brainstem, quickly and effectively killing him without a mark to show for it. After hearing a soft thud followed by silence, Obi-wan continued to walk away, sated snear curling up at the edge of his mouth that left the residue of a shameful gratification on his heart. 

He had acted recklessly, giving the life of the man he had just killed little thought. For a moment he found himself conflicted by what he had just done. Mostly he was glad to rid the city of that disgusting filth. A small part of him told him what he had done was unforgivable, unacceptable. Not at all within the code. He could hear the echo of his former master taunting him in that wicked tone. 

_You’re no knight._

He wrestled with it, with the part of himself that agreed with Qui-gon. The part of himself that remembered how he had earned his knighthood, how he had never deserved it. _You’re a glorified slave who has forgotten his place._

_No!_

Obi-wan became lost in his thoughts, losing sight of the man who had escaped Qui-gon only hours ago, who had saved both himself and Anakin. Again he was the scared subservient slave, the one that was used like an object. The one that Qui-gon toyed with and lorded over. He became paralyzed by the thoughts of what he had done, all of the things Qui-gon would do to him to punish his disobedience. 

A small hand tugged at his own, blue eyes gazing up at him worriedly and confused. “Obi-wan what are we going to do?” Immediately Anakin pulled him back into his body, back into the moment, regaining his momentum from the temporary lapse in focus- giving him the will to keep going. 

“It’s time to go back to the temple,” Obi-wan said distantly, still coming back to himself. Looking back down at Anakin, he gave the boy another smile, trying to push back at the tears that welled in his eyes. “It’s all going to be alright.”

The boy nodded and clasped his hand tighter on Obi-wan’s as they continued on towards the turbo lift. Anakin took to silence again as he walked close to him. A guilt laced sorrow donned on Obi-wan as he thought what a terrible example he was setting. It was against the Jedi code to murder in cold blood as he had, no matter what justification there might have been. Obi-wan couldn’t help himself. 

He had the rest of their lives to be a better man, set a better example. This night was anything but ordinary, he thought as his conscience began to settle around the deed. There was still the fact that he had just saved countless innocents from the horror of having to serve that man. That in itself was enough justification to put the matter to rest in his mind. 

Now was time to go to the council, explain his actions. After that, it would be over for Qui-gon. He nearly couldn’t believe it. It felt like Qui-gon would always hold some type of leverage over him. The thought of him out of the picture, didn’t feel real. He would have felt more disoriented by the events of the last few hours if he had given himself more time to think about any of it, but this was no time to stop and contemplate. It was time to go back home.

Taking the public transit as they headed back felt risky, so he settled on getting a cab instead. He continued to head in the direction of the nearest major traffic stream to call one over. It wasn’t too far away, but it was just far enough to run into trouble.

It started with someone following them, at a distance to begin with. Then two more took to following closer, flanking them. As Obi-wan reached out to sense them, he could tell they had multiple weapons on them. Bounty Hunters, he thought with a sense of dread. Qui-gon had been quick to commision them. No doubt his former master was not too far behind them. He pulled Anakin closer to him, bringing him beneath his cloak subconsciously at the thought.

Getting caught was not an option. At this point he figured he was most useful to his master dead if not captured. Neither of those outcomes were acceptable. Coming up on an elevator to the right, Obi-wan quickly took Anakin’s hand and force dashed towards the platform, pushing the lift button, hiding in the corner as blaster bolts tore past causing the few pedestrians to scatter and run from the scene. 

Finally the lift began to shakily rise as more bolts lanced the side of the tattered structure. Obi-wan ignited his saber, deflecting some of the shots targeted to disable the lift. They managed to rise almost two levels before one fateful bolt tore through the central control panel, causing the lift to lurch to a halt, throwing Anakin from the platform into the levels below, dangerously close to the bounty hunters.

“Anakin!” He cried after him as he dropped, frantic tears streaming out of the corners of his eyes as the soft thud sounded as his tiny body hit the pavement beneath them.

Without a moment to lose, Obi-wan quickly dashed from the lift, back to the street where Anakin had fallen. Reaching out through the force, he could tell the boy was significantly injured with a few broken bones, but sustained no life threatening injuries. Obi-wan was both relieved and enraged all at the same time. 

Anakin was alive, that was the most important thing. Still, he was hurt badly, knocked out from the fall. A fire lit in Obi-wan’s chest as the force pooled about him preemptively, a violence growing in his heart. 

Posed protectively over the boy’s broken form, Obi-wan drew his saber with a roaring scream, instantaneously deflecting the first in a barrage of bolts that were aimed to tear right through him, with ease. Within mere seconds he successfully injured one of their pursuers with a swift bolt to the brain causing their body to twitch morbidly as they fell to the ground. 

He took a distorted solace in killing them, for how badly they hurt Anakin, who was still curled up on the ground beneath him, suffering. But it was so much more than that as well. The sensation that danced in his aura as life force of the being bled out by his very hand felt… _satisfying._ As the other two continued to gain on him seemingly unconcerned with their fatally wounded colleague, skillfully dodging the reflected bolts as they advanced, he couldn’t help but let out a sadistic laugh. They had no idea what they had done, or what it had earned them. 

With a flick of his free hand Obi-wan pulled the remains of a wrecked speeder from the ground where it had rusted out and hurled it towards the two as they advanced on him, effectively knocking one of them down and crushing them into the duracrete as the other rolled to the side, avoiding the flying chunk of mangled durasteel. 

Without missing a beat, the last bounty hunter leapt to their feet again, pressing onward to Obi-wan’s position, not letting up the spray of futile blaster bolts that were relentlessly deflected back towards them. 

Each kill had Obi-wan more and more hungry for the next. As the third and final bounty hunter descended down on him, Obi-wan reached out, coiling around the hunter’s limbs, freezing them in place. His mind reeled with the possibilities of how he would have them meet their end, a ruthless smile forming on his lips as he positioned the hunters blaster on their skull, coiling around their finger until a bright bolt of green tore from the muzzle, charring a hole through the bounty hunter’s forehead. 

As the fleeting satisfaction of victory left his senses, Obi-wan rushed back down to Anakin, seeing the boy’s tortured blue eyes flicker to life as he yelped from pain as he tried to right himself. 

“Shhh, don’t move. You’re badly hurt.” Obi-wan said, hand stroking through the boys muddied blonde hair. “I’m going to get you back to the temple,” He said, throat choking on his words as he tried to stay calm for the sake of the boy. “You’re going to be just fine.”

Anakin said nothing, scared blue eyes boring up into his as he became more aware of his situation. They tore right through Obi-wan’s soul. For once, Anakin looked scared. Terrified, even. He couldn’t stand it.

“I _promise,_ it’s going to be alright.” Obi-wan said, placing a hand to the right side of the boys temple, sending him into the best healing trance he knew how to employ. After he was soundly asleep, Obi-wan placed his hands gently under his knees and behind his back, raising him up to carry him out of this awful place. 

Obi-wan quickly made way to the nearest turbo lift, tears of anger and regret falling from the corners of his eyes as he went. Finally, the lift was in sight after walking for too long. Anakin was going to need medical attention quickly if he was to recover properly. In the best scenario, they would reach the temple in just under an hour. Even that was too long for his comfort. 

Just as he neared the transit area, a harsh sting pierced the back of his neck, a numbness spreading out from it. His heart sank in defeat as he fell to his knees, placing Anakin down as gently as he could before all of his muscles completely gave out on him. Falling to the ground beside the boy, Obi-wan reached back at his neck, pulling a poison dart from his skin and holding it up to his eyes as he examined the means of his downfall. _No, I was so close,_ he thought in futility, as a familiar pair of boots walked towards him, stopping just shy of where he lay as he struggled in vain against the darkness that came over him as he fell unconscious.


	5. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Baraan-Fa, five years prior...

Flashes of blinding light followed by unimaginable destruction bloomed across the horizon, orange and smoky plumes rising up from the wake of it as the ground shook beneath Obi-wan’s feet. Screams and sounds of blaster fire echoed in the distance, a cacophony of death and pain. The young baroness he had been charged with protecting clung to his arm tightly, as his eyes darted about their empty surroundings, searching the tree cover that surrounded them to the west, then quickly ushering the young girl into the brush ahead of him. Each step of the way he tried to steady his nerves, to be able to better handle whatever might ensue.

Just as he had sensed, a detail of five guards rushed out from the palace entrance, blasters in hand. They scanned the edge of the forest, searching out the two young targets, unsuccessful in their objective. A taller figure appeared. Not tall by typical standards, but taller in comparison to the humans on this planet, who were shorter on average. 

“Zaria! Come out, it’s safe!” The man shouted, as he motioned the guard to lower their weapons.

The girl tensed, just on the edge of making a move to the perimeter of the treeline. Obi-wan could sense her feelings. She wanted to trust the man, but she couldn’t be sure. Obi-wan pulled her back into his chest silently. He could sense her offense at that, too. 

“It’s most certainly a trap,” Obi-wan whispered nearly inaudibly, his newfound and unlikely freedom still feeling a tad odd. If his master had anything to say about the mission, he would have never been allowed to go. But master Yoda had insisted on sending the padawan to protect the baroness alone. Even Qui-gon couldn’t go up against a direct order from master Yoda, although Obi-wan had sensed the wretched anger that had coiled in him at the decision. Surely, he would be made to pay for it later. For now, he only had one objective. Failing would send him home sooner. He couldn’t deny it was a powerful motivating factor to stay focused on the mission at hand. 

“Zaria, it’s Uncle Henrik, come darling!” Another pause, another silent motion of his hand, and the guards took to searching the treeline. 

“I know you’re out there. Come back to the palace, I will keep you safe through all of this madness,” he said grandly. Obi-wan could sense the deception in his voice, the uncertainty in the girls heart. 

“I sense his motives are not pure, we would do well to retreat further into the forest and wait this out while we find a way to call for backup.” Obi-wan whispered again too hesitantly, feeling her wavering between two courses of action. 

“Very well then, _girl._ I wanted to do this the easy way, I tried to be nice,” another wave of his hand sent two of the guard into the palace, returning with a battered and beaten man, one grunt on each shoulder hoisting him out into the courtyard, throwing him on the ground at Henrik’s feet.

“It’s _Fa-_ ” Obi-wan clamped a hand down on the girls mouth before she could give away their location.

“ _Shhh!_ ” Obi-wan hushed her, “I have no doubt he will kill you if you are discovered, please keep quiet!” He slowly removed his hand from her lips, Zaria turned to him, a furious look on her face with tears of anger and helplessness falling from the corner of her eyes. Obi-wan’s stomach wrenched and his core trembled, feeling completely out of his element. Exerting his will over that of another felt wrong, made his skin crawl, made him feel unsure of himself. He wondered if she could tell. 

“That’s my _father,_ master Jedi, what would you have me do?”

Obi-wan took a moment to stifle his pride at those words- _master Jedi._ Immediately he was disgusted with himself. This was not a moment to get lost in fantasy. Coming back in touch with reality, he spoke matter-of-fact. “Your father has been missing for weeks, and now your uncle appears with him in hand, in such a battered state, no less? Who do you think is responsible for his injuries?” Surely she didn’t need him to say that to understand the developing situation. 

“You have one minute, Zaria. Come out here, or your father _dies!_ ”

“No, Zaria! Don’t listen to him!” A broken voice rang out from the man who lay on the ground, struggling to rise to his knees, receiving a boot to the ribs for his words. 

“Quiet, old man,” the guard glowered, sending another kick at the back of his head causing him to fall flat on the ground again.

Zaria flung herself around, turning to run towards the treeline, just as Obi-wan caught her, both of them tripping and falling to the ground. Quickly, just as she was about to shout, Obi-wan brought a hand over her mouth again as she fought against him. He felt bad about using force on such a fragile being, but he couldn’t allow her to get herself killed, either. Her wellbeing was his primary objective, after all. Failing would just get him sent back to Coruscant sooner, back to his master sooner. Avoiding that was a powerful motivator. 

“What good is it to your people if you’re _both_ dead?” Obi-wan ground out under his breath as she ceased struggling against his grip. He loosened his hold on her, uncovering her mouth. “Your people need you. If your uncle is indeed responsible for your father’s kidnapping, which it is presumably so, that would undoubtedly link him to the underground slave trade that has been brewing. Is _that_ who you want to lead your people?” A look of fervid contention took over her expression as angry tears continued to fall. 

“So be it,” Henrik said, the guards blasters falling to the broken man. “Kill him.” Each blaster fired a bolt into the now lifeless body that lie on the steps to the palace, Henrik prodding him with his foot to assure his death. “Search the woods, find the girl. Kill her on sight. And that _Jedi_ as well.”

Zaria’s teary stare was locked on her father, who now lie slain before her, Obi-wan still pinning her down, keeping her hidden from the ones who would do the same to her. For a moment, he felt sick, as if he were to cause for all this death and destruction. He could feel the wrathful emotions rolling off of her, blaming him. He had after all, held her down while she watched her father die. 

He quickly jumped up to his feet, brushing off the guilt ridden thoughts as the more immediate reality came into view. The troops began closing in on their location even more. There was no time to wallow in shock. As Obi-wan rose up, he pulled Zaria along behind him. She drug her feet as he proceeded, looking back still, to the limp body that lie on the steps behind them. The troops getting even closer still. 

Obi-wan turned, placing his hands gently on the girls shoulders. She was so tiny compared to him, so fragile. “Zaria, I am truly sorry, but we have to press on. We must mourn the dead at a later time, unless we wish to join them. It’s what your father would have wanted,” he added, realizing his mistake in those words only seconds after he spoke them.

She looked angrily into his eyes, shrugging out of his grasp. “Don’t you dare talk about my father as if you knew him. You know _nothing_ of my father.” It was true, he had never met the man. It was not his place to say such things, even _if_ the words were true.

He averted his eyes in apology. “I am sorry, you’re right,” then gazed down into her eyes sharply, conveying their dire circumstances with a desperate look. “All the same, we must press on,” Obi-wan inclined his head towards her, as the troops marching through the forest came dangerously close to where they stood. 

Without a word of agreeance or protest, the pair of them headed deeper into the wood, as the slow crawl of soldiers rustled through the brush behind them, sweeping over the wooded expanse. Soon, more joined the search as a group of twenty more men began to sweep through the forest in the same methodical way. If they couldn’t quicken their pace, they would be caught in no time at all. 

Glancing up into the canopy, Obi-wan noticed large branches, presumably large and sturdy enough for the two of them. Without a moment to spare, Obi-wan took decisive action. It was always easier to live under such danger. Less thinking, only reacting. It gave a sense of freedom, if only for the moment. “Hang on, we’re going up,” Obi-wan said, grabbing Zaria underarms then promptly force leaping upwards to land on the trunk of an impressively large branch, quite high up from the ground. 

“This is your brilliant idea?” Zaria spat, wiping at the cold tears that had begun to dry on her face. 

As a few troops passed underfoot, Obi-wan pressed a finger to his lips in suggestion to keep her tone down, which she took to follow immediately. Looking up a bit farther, there was an Aryx nest just a few branches away within climbing distance. It appeared as if it had been abandoned for quite some time. 

Ten more troops passed beneath them. 

Obi-wan glanced again at the nest. It seemed like a sturdy enough surface to rest on. Indeed they would be up in this tree for quite a while. He doubted the guard would be called off the search for most of the evening, if not well into the morning. Zaria was a high value target. She alone had the potential to end all of Henrik’s plans. Until they would be able to summon help, it would be a delicate situation.

“Wait here, stay quiet,” Obi-wan whispered as he began climbing up the branches towards the nest. Of course, Zaria offered a look of repulsion and puzzlement in return. He expected nothing less. 

He stepped out onto the nest, feeling for weak points. Thankfully it was a formidable structure, seeming to give little under his weight. Zaria was small enough, he figured, it should easily support both of them. Of course, she would be less enthusiastic about their temporary camp. 

Obi-wan leaned over the edge of the nest, signaling her to follow him up. Reluctantly, she acquiesced, slowly ascending, careful not to step on her long silk dress that caught hazardously on the tree limbs, threatening to trip her up. 

Soon she was crawling into the makeshift pile of sticks, positioning herself as far away form Obi-wan as physically possible, while remaining in the perimeter of the nest. Sounds of distant blaster fire and other small explosives filled the silence between them. 

“He never hurt a soul, you know...” Zaria said, words trailing, glistening eyes staring off in the distance. Obi-wan remained respectfully silent, too aware of how she must have viewed him in it all, too cautious to say anymore in regard to the man that he never knew. To have such a bold and outspoken daughter, he assumed the Barron was a good man. His servants had spoken of him as such. 

More troopers rummaged through the brush beneath them, another uncomfortably long silence took hold. As the moments wore on, Zaria grew angry and restless. 

“So what now, master Jedi? What’s your gallant plan?” She said accusingly, eyes squinted at him in mistrust. 

As much as he did admire her strength of spirit, it would do little to help them here. He almost felt envious of her, jealous of her strength and fierceness. It left him acutely aware of his own submissive manner, of all the things he had been trained to be. A hero? A protector? Those weren’t Qui-gons primary teachings. They didn’t even make it into the lesson plan. Obi-wan found it difficult to not be a living doormat to the young baroness, although he did try his best. 

It had gotten easier as the days had drawn out, but still it was never his strong suit. Often times his incompetence came across as sarcasm or annoyance. It was easier when they were in immediate danger, she would let him take the lead. In times like this, it felt as if she was ready to morally undermine him at each opportunity. She had no way of knowing how fragile he was past his rugged exterior. He tried to remember that, to take it all less personal. Although it seemed to do little to help at all. 

“Firstly, I’m not a Jedi master, I’m a padawan, please try to remember. Secondly, I say we rest here for the night. There is little chance of us getting a window to escape further until early next morning.”

“Spend the night, here?” She said, look of disgust disappointment written on her face. The unspoken words hanging in the air. _Here? With you?_

“Yes, I believe that would be our best chance for survival.” He said, bringing his knees up to his chest, wrapping his cloak around himself to shield himself from the breeze that began to pick up, rustling the trees around them. As much as it was a miserable predicament to be placed in, with such difficult company to say the least, anything was better than being at the temple with his master. 

“We won’t survive here for the night,” Zaria said, rubbing warmth into her bare arms. “You’ve been here for a week and you still don’t know anything about the climate on Baraan-Fa? Once the sun sets, the temperature rapidly falls, _and_ there’s a storm front moving in. We’ll freeze to death out here.”

“I don’t see we have much choice. Freeze, or take a blaster bolt. Which do you prefer?” Obi-wan said in sarcastic impulse, thoroughly annoyed. Instantly, he saw his words cut through her, eroding her tenacity, baring the hurt that lie beneath, but only for a moment, the sadness in her face quickly returning to a more vicious anger. 

“Please forgive me, i’m being insensitive. My sole purpose is to keep you safe. We’re a little slim on options at the moment.” He said in a kinder tone, feeling genuinely terrible for speaking so coldly. It did little to soften her expression. 

Another gust of wind brought the temperature even lower, causing both of them to curl and shiver. Lightning flashed across the sky as thunder began to rumble low, pairing ominously with the sounds of blaster bolts and cries that echoed in the distance. 

“Well I would prefer not to die of exposure,” she said, glancing about them as the wind continued to blow, causing the trees to sway and the nest to shift in kind. 

“There’s room for both of us beneath my cloak,” Obi-wan suggested, pulling the edge of it out from beneath himself, making room for her. “I can stay the wind from blowing around us, too. It should help keep the both of us from freezing to death out here.” He tried to keep his voice as steady as possible, though he was having a difficult time with the repulsed look that fell over Zaria’s face. 

“I’ll take my chances, _padawan,_ ” she said, face twisted in a sneer, settling down deeper into the nest to avoid catching too much of the breeze. 

“Please, being petty about things isn’t going to help anything. Letting yourself go hypothermic is not a solution. I don’t like any of this either. But for the moment, it’s the hand we’ve been dealt.” She only responded with silence. More troopers passed beneath them, this time searching upwards, also, scanning the tree canopy. 

Small rain droplets began to sound on the leaves a few meters from their location, sweeping towards them as the clouds rolled in. Obi-wan reached a hand out, projecting a force shield around the perimeter of the nest, effectively shielding them from the rain as the clouds passed over them. More thunder and lightning flashes followed by a sudden heavy pour of rain, drenching the forest around them. Obi-wan let out a sigh of frustration, wiping his free hand down his face in dismay.

He was still a young padawan. He had never been very strong with the force. Deflecting rain for so long would eventually bring him to force exhaustion, especially exerting himself over such a large area, he wondered how long he could hold out before he was drained completely. 

“I can only keep such a large space deflected for a short time. If you at least come closer I could keep out the elements for a bit longer. If we get soaked there is little I will be able to do to keep us from freezing,” he said, voice slightly strained as he concentrated his efforts against the gusts of wind that took to shaking the branches around them. 

“Very well then,” Zaria responded reluctantly, crawling over towards him with a pained look on her face. She settled in a few inches beside him, allowing him to reduce the shieling to surround themselves. He took a deep breath, relieved to exert himself less. 

“I’m curious,” Obi-wan said, turning towards her. “When you called for a Jedi all those weeks ago, did you suspect your Uncle was behind everything?”

“Uncle Henrik has always been jealous of my father’s power,” she admitted distantly. “But I never suspected for a moment, he was capable of so much… _evil._ I should have seen it. I _should_ have known.” He could feel the sense of blame that emanated from her. 

“It’s not your fault,” Obi-wan said reassuringly and heartfelt.

“I _know,_ ” she said, sending a look of offense his way before she turned her head straight to gaze out at the expanse of forest before them. 

“You will be a good and strong leader,” he said, nodding to himself. “You would be surprised at how the galaxy lacks people of moral fortitude, especially when it comes to people who hold power over others,” he added in a more dejected tone, stomach twisting at what it brought to mind. 

Zaria nodded, too. “Well I suppose I have to survive first, in order to lead.” She said, eyes welling yet again with tears she did not acknowledge. 

“Indeed.”

They sat longer in silence, as the temperature continued to fall. At least for the moment, the rain had let up as the thunder storm had continued on past them, taking to brew on at the edge of the horizon. As night began to fall, the sounds of war finally began to slow to a halt. The setting sun cast vibrant colors over the dark storm clouds, the sight was absolutely breathtaking, Obi-wan had to admit. Even better without the noise of bombs and blasters.

Although as the sun had finished its descent, the night brought a rapid temperature drop, causing the drops of water from the storm to freeze solid on the branches around them. Zaria had climbed under his cloak without a word, and silently wrapped her arms around him for warmth. He hesitantly reciprocated, shivering for warmth at what scant body heat her small figure could give. He intensified the force shielding, creating a barrier for their body heat to warm the air around themselves. Slowly, the temperature rose, just enough to quell their shivering, not quite enough to deem comfortable, but enough to survive. 

Taken by exhaustion, Zaria fell asleep in his arms. He huddled around her, keeping her as warm as possible for her to get some rest. It would be best for her to be as rested as possible for their journey that lie ahead in the morning. _He_ had been trained to go without sleep at times in the field. Besides that, he slept very little anyways. Between his master coming to him and the nightmares that would ensue if he did fall asleep, it had been several years since he had slept well at all. 

He held out all through the night as Zaria slept. Just as the sun crested the horizon, warmth flooded the air around them. Obi-wan had strained to keep the shield around them fixed through the night, finally releasing it as the sun came into view. His exhaustion was acute, both physically and otherwise. Closing his eyes just for a moment, he was taken by a deep sleep in an instant. 

And there, was his master. Always ready and waiting to torment him, to hurt him. To take what he wanted. The worst part was how realistic his nightmares had always been. They always looked, sounded, and felt horrifically vivid. A prison within a prison.

Hands moved in on him, ripping the clothes off of his back violently. His body wouldn’t respond, no matter how hard he tried to move. It wasn’t true paralysis, it was the heavy feeling as if his body were made of lead, not heeding his commands to protect himself against the inevitable assault.

“ _No!_ ”

Obi-wan woke with a jolt, eyes darting about his surroundings, confused. His head was throbbing, his body was beaten and torn up. He moved to sit up, quickly being yanked back down by the chain that latched to a heavy circlet collar that was clamped on his neck. His hands were equally tethered by heavy chain, ankles as well. The surface on which he lie was unforgiving and hard, causing sore spots to form on his back and shoulders. 

It was dark, dimly lit. As his eyes strained to adjust to his surroundings, he only found more darkness. His stomach felt sick, nausea taking him over violently as he turned his head as much as possible to expel the bile from his stomach that lurched up involuntarily. He felt weak, sick, his body trembled in a way he was not used to. Not from fear, or anger. It was something else. 

For a moment his mind was lost, between the past and present as he struggled to catch up with his current situation. 

“Zaria?” He called out hesitantly. No, that was long ago. A flood of memories hit him as his chest swelled with panic, an uncomfortable sensation mixed with the sickness that had taken his body over. He reached out for the force to unlock his binds but everything felt... muted. The force was still there, he could feel it. But he had been weakened in its power. He doubted he would be able to float a pen, much less free himself. 

“Anakin!” He cried out, now thrashing against his binds that painfully dug into his skin, feeling the deep bruises that had formed beneath the metal that restrained him. “What have you done with him?!” His voice echoed in the confines of the room, no one answering but the trail of his own voice. “ _Answer me!_ ” 

A sting of electric current zapped through his collar causing him to cry out in pain and frustration. He had absolutely no idea how long he had been trapped here- wherever ‘here’ was. His body had been ravaged and beaten, bruises and cuts strewn about him from head to toe, not a single one he remembered receiving. 

But even now, all of the fear and panic that he felt was drowned in the righteous anger that roared in his chest. Whatever had been done to Anakin, and for all that had already been done, all would be made to pay. Qui-gon, and whoever else shared with him in his deeds. The determination to kill them all overwrote the panic that swelled beneath it. 

In the midst of his resolution, another wave of nausea and dry heaves shook his frame. His skin felt as if it were teeming with insects, dancing over every inch of him. He shifted his hips to scratch his leg against the ground beneath him, a familiar gut wrenching pain searing through him. 

A bright light came on, filling the room, assaulting Obi-wan’s eyes to the point of blindness for a few seconds. A door creaked open on what sounded like rusty metal hinges, then slammed closed. Footsteps approached. The face of a confused stranger stood before him. 

“Help me, you’ve got to get me out of here,” Obi-wan pleaded, slamming his head against the platform where he was chained. “ _Please,_ ” he writhed against his chains. The stranger still looked on in befuddlement. “ _PLEASE!_ ” Another shock administered by the collar, another cry escaped him. 

“Hey, he’s _awake,_ ” the stranger said, turning to the door of the cell. The man stepped away from Obi-wan, walked back to the door, pulling it open. “You said he would be dosed up. This is _not_ what I paid for.” Obi-wan’s stomach sank, his chest filling with sick dread as a wave of understanding donned on him. How could he have been so stupid?

“No,” he croaked out, frantic tears rimming the edges of his dry eyes. His panic began to grow past the burning anger, swallowing up his chest, making his ribs feel tight, making breathing feel impossible. He should have known the moment he woke up. Perhaps he did, he just hadn’t let himself understand. 

“My apologies, just wait a few more minutes and we can rectify the situation. I am so sorry,” another voice said, polite and concerned. 

“No, _please,_ ” he begged again, only to be ignored. After all, here, he was not human, even lesser than a slave. He was merely an object in a place like this.

“I expect a discount,” the man said, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I will see what I can do, senator.”

“Please!” Another shock, another cry.

The senator looked back disgustedly at Obi-wan as he squirmed, pulling at his restrains. “See to it that you _do._ ”

The two sets of footsteps trailed away, leaving Obi-wan alone for a moment as he wept for himself, for Anakin, as he wished and hoped that the boy was someplace safe. His heart ached at the thought of that monster laying a hand on him. He had to find a way to get out of here, to get to him. He had to make Qui-gon pay. But the opportunities to escape would be very few and far between, if they would present themselves at all. 

Two new sets of heavy footsteps neared the door, opening it hastily. One was a small, slender weequay carrying a small box kit. The other was larger in stature, extremely muscular, weequay as well.“I can’t believe Harris forgot to administer the last dose, he will be killed for this,” the smaller one said, unfolding the kit onto a side table, withdrawing a vile and syringe. 

“Ah, I won’t miss him,” the larger one said gruffly as the smaller one prepared the injection.

“Please, whatever they pay you, I can pay tenfold. Just get me out of here,” Obi-wan said, craning his neck to make eye contact with the two grunts at his right. 

“It’s a shame, though,” the smaller one said. “Now the rest of us will have to work extra till they replace him.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” the other said in the same grating voice. 

“I can give each of you 50,000 credits, more even. Please, I have to get out of here,” Obi-wan said more frantically this time, panicking as the smaller one readied the needle. 

“Alright, steady his arm,” the small one said as the larger one roughly wrenched at his shoulder causing searing pain to shoot down his arm. 

“ _Ah!-_ Anything, I’ll do anything! _Give_ you anything, I swear! I’m a Jedi, the council will reward you generously for helping me escape,” Obi-wan cried out, as the small one hovered the needle just above piercing through to his vien. 

The smaller one looked him in the eye, gold globes staring back at him, void of all emotion. “You think we haven’t heard all that before? You think you’re the only ‘fallen Jedi’ to end up here? Listen. The only thing someone like me gets around here for helping someone like you, is a death sentence. No amount of credits can change that.”

Obi-wan switched his gaze between the monotone face and his arm until the needle sunk into his flesh, pressing a green liquid into his veins. The hit took his breath away for a few seconds, coughing as his breathing became easier in the moments that followed. The room began to swirl around him as his body grew warm and limp, numbness spreading out from the injection site to take over his whole body.

“Nighty night, Jedi, sweet dreams.” The gruff voice sounded as his vision went black. 

“Hey, wipe that vomit off him, will ya?” The smaller one said casually.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” The deadened sensation of a towel wiping off the side of his face pushed through Obi-wan’s waning senses. 

The click of a comlink sounded. “Alright, you can send the senator back now. Situation’s been handled,” the other voice said as the door creaked open and shut behind them. Quickly, Obi-wan plunged into a drugged unconscious state again, plummeting back into his dreamscape.

A gentle hand on his shoulder shook him once, a brisk wind lashed through the sky. More shaking, a soft muted voice, growing louder, and louder. 

“Obi-wan!” Zaria called out somewhat worried, as he jolted back to life. 

“Wha- what is it?” He said, startled, coming to full alert as he scanned their surroundings. 

“Nothing, it’s fine. You just looked like you were having a bad dream,” she said, standoffish and still concerned.

“ _Oh,_ ” he said, an uncomfortable silence drawing out between them. “Well I can’t recall what it might have been,” he said in a dismissive manner, waving his hand. “I think the search parties have ceased for the time being, it’s time for us to head out.” 

She gave him a pensive look then quickly shook it off, showing her usual disproving face. “Lead the way.”

Obi-wan stretched out his hands to take her. “Hold on tight,” he said as she grudgingly followed his direction. A few seconds later they were on the forest floor, Zaria stumbling back and falling from the dissent. 

“Oh- I warned you, I said to hold on tight,” Obi-wan said gently, holding out a hand to help her up.

“I’m _fine,_ ” she said, waiving off the hand he offered as she climbed to her feet. “I've taken a tumble or two in my time.”

“Very well,” Obi-wan said defensively, hands out at his sides. “Shall we press on then?” 

“Lets,” Zaria ground out impatiently as she brushed off her dress, motioning for Obi-wan to take the lead. 

Still being cautious, the two of them walked deeper into the woods. The morning sunlight burned through the tree canopy, pooled up rainwater dispersing into fine vapor in the air at their feet. It was a majestic scene, one Obi-wan had never witnessed before. 

Zaria was the first to cut through the silence, after an hour or more of walking through the brush. “So what are we looking for exactly?” 

“We need to find a way to call for support, or better yet, jump off world to Coruscant and petition for aid.” Obi-wan explained, as he still had yet to formulate a plan to get to that point.

“Well I can guarantee you all off world comms are jammed. We would have to get into orbit to send out a message.” Zaria was right. Obi-wan had already suspected as much.

“Well then, let's go to the nearest town and get ourselves a ship.”

“It won't be that easy, Henrik will have us plastered all over the place as traitors to shoot on sight. First we need to change out of our clothes.” Again, she was right. Although, he had expected to just head on and take the risk. Obviously, Zaria had other ideas.

“What do you suggest?” Obi-wan asked patiently, pausing in his stride to face her.

“Let's find an isolated homestead, get them to help us. People who live out here might not have heard whatever news is circulating. If they have heard… well, you're a Jedi, I'm sure you have some mind tricks up your sleeve. It shouldn't be too hard for you.”

“What direction might we head in to find such a place?” Obi-wan asked in response, looking back at Zaria. She may have been short in stature, but her features positively glowed with confidence and leadership, even now. Even just between themselves, she was a natural leader. Obi-wan took no offense to it, it was expected that she would know more about her world than he, but it was more than just that. She had an air about her, although she could prove to be frustrating at times, she gave a feeling to others. A sense of calm, that everything would be alright. It was fascinating to Obi-wan. He both loathed and appreciated it all at the same time. A soothing reminder of what he had been trained for, what he really was. What he felt he would never be good enough to become. 

“If we keep on until we find another forest path, and head westward, we should come upon some homesteads eventually.” Zaria spoke, examining the sun in the sky to give them direction. “Just follow me,” she waived him over, as he trailed behind her, mindful to keep his stride short to keep pace with her. 

“Isn’t there anyone we can reach out to, some faction or some family member, a town perhaps, that was exclusively loyal to your father?”

“Perhaps there might have been, but with such civil unrest, the attacks on the capital, Henrik might have very well put the blame of it all on my father, and the rest of my family. He will indeed make us out to be the scapegoat of all the turmoil.”

“It would be the most prudent strategy for a takeover,” Obi-wan thought on, intrigued by her political prowess, equally repulsed by the topic altogether. “Such is why I despise politics,” he added in a lower tone. “So much deception, so many games.”

“Indeed, Obi-wan. Perhaps that is one thing we see eye to eye on.” Zaria said, giving him a rare look of approval, even a hint of a smile. Only for a moment before she resumed her typical displeased expression. “In any case, we should reach the road in an hour or less, then perhaps another hour till we reach a homestead.”

“Let’s keep on, then.” Obi-wan added, soothed by her softened demeanor, finding more confidence within it. 

“Lets.”


	6. Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-gon goes to the lower levels of Coruscant.  
> Obi-wan and Zaria continue their journey.

The back alley was dark, yet full of life. Various beings of all different species and backgrounds, mingling, laughing, drinking. There was more variety of spice filling the streets than anyone could hope to imagine. All of them illegal in the Republic, of course. Promiscuously clad beings lined the edges of the street, crowded at the corners, lobbying for attention, fighting for clientele between themselves although there seemed to be more than enough to go around. 

No one came down here, unless they were intent to find something. Either spice, sex, drink or other ventures such as bounty hunters for hire and the like. As he scanned over the workers who rallied at the corners of the street in his own quest, Qui-gon felt somewhat at ease. 

It was rare that he ever felt that way, between the growing darkside powers that harnessed themselves to the most sinister parts of himself pushing him to sharpen and hone his darker skills and the pressure from his master to give more, be more. Living as a Jedi, amongst all of those smug, self important, arrogant others who called themselves Jedi as well, it was sandpaper on his nerves. The fact that they still called him master Jedi, was appalling to him. There were few things in life that brought him a sense of calm, a sense that he had everything under control. 

Obi-wan had been one of those things, grounding him. Centering him. Giving him focus in each day which was a small living hell within itself. It could be considered an attachment of sorts, but it was something less, yet so much more all at the same time. He had been a tool of sorts, one that he had loved the most. Not that he really loved him per say, but what he could give him. What he _would_ give him. And now even that, his master had tried to take away. 

So he walked the back streets, dark alleys, looking for a face. No, he would never find the one he had been looking for, the one he wanted so badly. The one, he never really understood how much he needed, until it was gone. It wasn’t that they had never been apart in the past, just never for so long. Qui-gon knew it would be months before he would see Obi-wan again. The absence felt like a void of sorts, one that he sought to fill by absorbing all the sensation he could, leeching off others. 

And it was a rush, the sensations he stole from the crowd around him. The spice, the drink, the numerous pleasures being indulged in all around. It did a little to take the edge off, but it did little to sate him entirely. 

Usually he would never venture out this deep so often, after all he did his best to maintain appearances as a Jedi knight. He would fool who he needed to, mask himself where appropriate, he knew how to play the role. After all, it hadn’t always been an act. But without Obi-wan, he found himself lost in a tailspin, fiending for a fix of what he couldn’t get. Not right now, anyways. Not for a while, still.

His eyes finally settled on a young man with a slender frame, narrow jaw, sapphire blue eyes. If only his hair were soft blonde, instead of dark brown. Just as he started in the mans direction, his comlink chirped, his spirits dropping as the noise reached his ears. 

Quickly he moved towards a lesser trafficked alley, then ducked into a vacant building, hiding off in one of it’s corners. Once he was sufficiently hidden, he keyed the link on. 

“My Lord?” Qui-gon asked, hood drawn over his dark features. 

“Pravus. It has been too long without a report. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” A voice sounded out through the link, distorted as to not give away the identity of the owner, nor a holo to project the face to whom it belonged. 

“Never, my Lord.” Qui-gon spoke in a genuine tone of reverence, one rarely heard. 

“What is your status update?” The words were spoken bluntly, as to expect a negative report. 

“It’s still all clear. No one suspects a thing. The council is completely in the dark.”

“And what of the boy?”

“He lives.” Qui-gon said pensively, his features to match. 

“Yes, I know,” the voice spoke dryly. “You catch my meaning, apprentice, don’t be coy with me,” the voice added in tones of annoyance. 

“He still recovers from his injuries. Before the incident, as you are already well aware, we made little progress. Although he had only been with me a short time before then. So things are as to be expected.” Qui-gon said in an even tone, eyes listless and vacant as he spoke them, reaching out to be sure no one was eavesdropping in on their conversation. 

“Perhaps they are as expected, though that is far from making things _acceptable,_ ” the voice said, cutting and decisively. 

A pause drew out between them, as Qui-gon waited for the voice to continue on with the line of thought, intrigued expression on his face, as if he were daring them to say what came next. 

“These are delicate times, my apprentice. If you are to train the chosen one, you must play to his desires and fears, coax the darkness out of him. You must do this carefully, so as to not draw attention to yourselves until he is of age to choose the path of the Sith. He must believe it to be his decision.”

“You speak as if I have failed to start down this path,” Qui-gon said, in a surprised tone, his face even keel. It was the reaction he had expected. 

“I speak as if you have let your own personal desires shadow that of our larger objective!” The voice shouted, exasperated on the topic.

“That is hardly the truth of it. Anakin remains my apprentice. Just as you commanded, Obi-wan is no longer a factor. He will not interfere with the boy’s turn to the darkside. Anakin has much pain and hate within himself. What little bond they might have formed is no match for the darkness that dwells inside of him.”

“So you should pray, Darth Pravus. If you fail me again, you will find the consequences most severe.”

“I understand, my Lord,” Qui-gon said, this time his voice straining to maintain the humility that came more easily at the start. 

“I fear you do not,” the voice bit back harshly. “You say Obi-wan is out of the picture yet he is still _alive!_ ”

“I don’t understand master, we have talked about all this before. It was on _your_ command I leased him to Black Sun.” Qui-gon was both annoyed and confused. He had done nothing but submit to his master this entire time, even at his own detriment. Still, his master was not pleased.

“I did so as a favor to you, Pravus. Already I regret it.” The voice bit out in warning, audibly frustrated, patience waning.

“How is giving him over to brutish incompetent slavers a favor?” Qui-gon retorted, disgusted. The thought of Obi-wan being handled and used by others sent a rage through his veins that was difficult to quell. Obi-wan was his, and his _alone._ It had been difficult to obey his masters command to begin with, his master knew it had been a sore subject. 

“He should be dead _instead._ He will forever cause problems with our designs. I have foreseen his potential for chaos. It is not to be taken lightly.”

“He is not yours to be concerned with,” Qui-gon shot back, vehemently and wrathful. “Obi-wan is _mine._ Our partnership has its price. _He_ is that price. I have gone out of my way to bend to your commands, but this is where your jurisdiction _ends._ ” Qui-gon clenched his fist, anger growing inside of him, begging to be unleashed. 

“You are so blinded by your attachment that you do not see. He is indeed my concern. Your insistence on keeping your little pet has compromised our entire operation! You would kill our plans in their infancy rather than kill your precious little slave. You make me compete for your loyalty with this filthy creature you keep.” The voice shouted, outraged. 

Qui-gon took a moment to calm himself before he continued. Angering his master wouldn’t do any good, it would only make his commands more strict. Perhaps even keeping Obi-wan away from him even longer. That would be unacceptable. “I do understand the delicate situation we find ourselves in, master. I am not insensitive to the fact that Obi-wan had the potential to make things even more difficult to maneuver. However, he was captured before he had the chance to make a mess of things. Anakin's memories have been fixed, he won’t recall a single thing that happened that night. Everything has come to conclusion favorably.”

“Until the next time you put pleasure before business,” the voice spat angrily. 

“No, there will not be a next time.” Qui-gon paused, swallowing hard before he continued, the rage he tried to deny still steadily rising in his veins. “Surely master, in such a place that you had him sent, Obi-wan has been made to pay for his mistakes hundreds of times over by now. He will not repeat them.” He added curtly, wishing his master would leave the subject alone. 

“You will not give him such a chance.” The voice spoke definitively. 

“Of course, my Lord.” Qui-gon said, relieved. 

“Your insubordination in this matter is troubling, Pravus. Although, it is the way of the Sith.” The voice said, resigned and abated, only for a moment before coming back to a furious growl. “If you are unable to attain the results I require, the consequences will be even worse still, for your defiance. _And_ Obi-wan will die.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less, my master.” Qui-gon spoke in a serene tone, completely assured. 

“When will the boy be well enough to return to training?”

“He should be able to return to his studies in one weeks time at the most.” A short silence grew before the voice spoke again.

“It’s a shame what happened to him. Another consequence for keeping such a high maintenance burden.” The voice spat snidely, bitterly. 

“His injuries were, unfortunate. Still, pain is a gift from the dark side. It can all be used to our advantage.” Qui-gon said darkly, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a small grin for a moment. 

“This is true,” the voice said, somewhat disappointed. “Be sure to use it to the fullest,” the voice added, laced with caution. 

“Yes, my Lord. Is there anything else?”

“Yes, one more thing.” Another loaded silence grew, as to emphasise the words that came next. “I am aware of certain… _impulses_ your are inclined towards, Pravus. If you so much as think to inflict on our chosen one, what you have on your last padawan, I will kill you _myself._ Being subject to such treatment will not help him in his path. I will not allow you to turn him into your _plaything._ ” The voice said disgusted, choosing words carefully to avoid further contention. 

“You are mistaken to even think such a thing, my Lord. I would _never._ ” Qui-gon said solemnly. “Besides, he is a tad too young for my liking,” he added slyly, listening for his masters repulsed reaction. 

There was an uneasy silence before the voice answered him. “Regardless, I expect to hear another report by the end of the week.”

“Of course, my Lord. Is that all?” Qui-gon spoke, subserviently and meek. It nearly killed him to do so.

“That will be all for now,” the voice crackled through the comlink, meeting with interference. 

Qui-gon closed his hand on the comlink as it disengaged, crushing it then dissolving it into a fine powder that fell through his fist. Submitting to his master felt like acid in his veins most times, but it would all turn out favorably to his advancement in the future. After all, nothing worthwhile was ever easy, he reminded himself. Though that thought did little to still the anger that raged inside of him. His lip curled into a snarl as he sauntered menacingly back out into the busy corridors and walkways through the Coruscant underworld, scanning the streets.

There, he found the one who had caught his eye before. Not the one he had truly wanted, but one that would suffice. The pent up anger, frustration that boiled in his blood wanted something, someone to distract him. 

Approaching the man, he turned to him, jewel blue eyes glinting in the low light of their surroundings. Too brazen of a look about him, Qui-gon thought. But all of the workers would possess the same air. They were meant to. It wasn’t what he was after, but he was growing desperate. 

“Hey, handsome,” a smooth voice spoke from soft pink lips. “Looking for some fun?”

“What’s your fee?” Qui-gon spoke low, impatient, face hidden beneath his hood still.

“Depends,” the man said whimsically. “I’ll do just about anything for the right price,” he added, eyeing Qui-gon up and down with approval.

“Price is no matter. Follow me,” Qui-gon said, quickly heading towards the nearest hotel, the man trailing closely behind. 

A few short minutes later, the two of them found their way to one of the rooms, Qui-gon closing the door behind them as the man sprawled out suggestively on the sleeper. 

“So, how do you want it?” the man asked blatantly, waiting for an answer. 

_Quick and to the point, well enough,_ Qui-gon thought. “You will address me as master. You will act innocent, unwilling, timid. You will do as I say.” Qui-gon spoke as he disrobed, setting his clothes on the chair beside him. 

A look of hesitancy fell over the mans face for a moment, followed by a nervous smile. Qui-gon returned all with a stern look of his own, that deathly stare. The one that always had earned him such fear from Obi-wan. It seemed to have the same effect here, as well. A small grin pulled at the corners of his mouth in response. 

“Are you still willing to serve me? I will pay you well.” Qui-gon added, placing his saber on the table, the man's eyes following the weapon with a look of disbelief and awe. 

“Yes... master.”

…….

“We’ve been walking for hours,” Obi-wan said, tired, irritable. “Still, no road. Are you sure you know where we are going?”

“To be honest, I’m not quite so sure anymore,” Zaria said, hint of apology in her voice. Obi-wan took a breath, trying to calm himself, trying to ignore the feelings of helplessness that began to root in his heart. “We are bound to hit something sooner or later, if we keep on in this direction,” she added in a hopeful tone. 

“I suppose,” Obi-wan said, thinly veiled frustration on his face. “You must forgive me for my frustration and impatience. Such complaints will not get us there any faster.” He spoke to reprimand himself as much as to apologize to the baroness. 

“Really, it’s fine,” she said, hoisting up her skirt to climb over a freshly fallen tree in their path. Obi-wan reached out, feeling something, a disturbance. As he looked over, he saw evidence of blaster fire and explosives at the base of the fallen tree. 

“Hold on,” Obi-wan said, distracted, walking over soft footed to the base of the broken tree. 

Zaria halted, looking around them anxiously. “What is it?” She asked in a whisper voice, eyes darting about nervously. Obi-wan answered her with a hand, calling for silence.

Stepping around to the epicenter of the blast, fresh char lined the foliage around. A wagon stood off in the distance, whatever beast of burden had been pulling it long gone. Just beyond a bit further, a road meandered through the forest. Something that looked like a stick built house, further off through the trees. Smoke, trailing upwards from it from a waning fire. 

Upon closer inspection, and much to his horror, Obi-wan noticed organic remains, skewed outward from the blast, sticking to the tree, splattered on the forest floor. Dead soldiers encircled the epicenter, torn up from the force of the explosion. In curiosity, he pressed his hand to the center of the blast on the forest floor, plunging himself into the past, into the events that caused all of this destruction. Quickly he pulled his hand away, looking again at the dead men that lie strewn about, a fresh sense of unease taking him over. 

Reaching out to the structure that lie beyond, he could sense no sentient life forms. He turned back to Zaria, signaling her to come closer. She stepped through the blast and char, eyeing the dead bodies that lie around it. He could feel the anger in her that stirred from the loss of life. At the destruction of the countryside. So much thoughtless death. 

“What happened here?” Zaria asked breathlessly, aghast at the sight before her.

“Those soldiers were chasing after a girl,” Obi-wan said, trying to stay removed as he recounted his vision. “She fell... and they-” he broke off, unable to say more, taking a deep breath as he tried to center himself again before he continued. “She grabbed one of their detonators and set the charge, killing herself. And all the others.”

“You can see all of that?” Zaria said, half impressed, half horrified.

“Yes,” Obi-wan said gravely, quickly changing topics.“There is a homestead beyond here, we could find a change of clothes, take the main road into town,” he suggested, shaking off the ominous feel of their surroundings, trying to forget what he should have never seen.

“You’re right,” Zaria said vacantly, walking over and past the dead bodies that lie on the forest floor. Obi-wan followed silently, heading closer to the house beyond the treeline. 

As they emerged from the tree cover, past the fence, farm animals lie slaughtered all over the grounds. “They will have done this, and blamed my father, to give reason for Henrik's treachery.” Zaria said through welling tears, eyeing the smoldering crop fields just past the residence. 

“He will face justice for his crimes.” Obi-wan said with conviction, looking back at the fallen tree behind them. 

“And is that _enough?_ ” She swirled around to meet him with anger. “Justice will not bring these people back. Justice will not recover the lost crop, the dead animals,” She took a pause, “my father...” she added softly under her breath, pain in her voice.

“No,” Obi-wan said, examining the ground at his feet for a moment before looking back up to meet her gaze with one of sorry understanding. “No, it will not.”

She gave him a look of frustrated contempt, then turned towards the house. Obi-wan followed. Heading into the torn up structure, he immediately noticed the smell of blood thick in the air. Furniture had been tossed about all over the place, toppled over in one chaotic mess. Blood splatter adorned the walls and the floor, yet no body to be found. 

Zaria held her hand over her nose, a numb shock filling her aura. “You can wait outside if you want, I’ll be back with a change of clothes,” Obi-wan offered, stifling his gag reflex as the iron rich aroma became even more potent as he neared the door to what would presumably be the bedroom. 

Without a word or a look to acknowledge him at all, she turned for the door to go back outside. Obi-wan went back to the bedroom door, swallowing hard before he turned the handle and pressed forward. Immediately he shrunk back, coughing, retching on his hands and knees as the foul odor of what lie inside swept over the rest of the house. 

He did his best to gather himself before he dared to go inside the room. When he figured he was as ready as he would ever be, hesitant yet as fast as he could he went in, taking quick and shaky strides to the dresser that stood upright, searching with trembling hands through the drawers for garments that might fit the both of them. After finding what he assumed would be acceptable clothing, he turned to a wardrobe, opening it to pull two cloaks from the hangers, then immediately taking his leave, avoiding the pile of dead bodies that had been heaped in the corner of the room near the door, each one lying limply over the other, in a pool of their own blood that escaped from their slit throats. 

As he rushed out of the house, he began to feel dizzy, nauseous. He gasped for air, shaken by what he had just seen. He silently cursed himself at the same time, frustrated by his weak demeanor, that he should be so affected by such sights. Yes, it was a terrible thing, nothing would change that. But a true Jedi would be not so violently affected by death. A Jedi knew that there was no death. Just as there was no pain- only the force.

A true Jedi would have a handle on his emotions, be able to stay void of such things in the moment. Such strong emotional pulls only would cloud his thinking, stray his reaction times, keep him from living in the moment. Danger, he could handle. This? He had never seen anything quite so terrible. Any time he had been on other dangerous missions, ones that involved much death, his master was always there to lead the charge, to handle things like this. He found himself wishing Qui-gon were here, just for this moment to help them, then immediately cursed himself for thinking such a thing. He vowed to himself he would try harder to stay centered in it all. He had no other choice.

In the midst of his inner conflict, he only realized moments later that Zaria was nowhere to be seen. He scanned the outer edge of the property, setting the garments down on the steps beside the front door. 

“Zaria?” He called out softly, hand hovering over his saber as he reached out in search of her. Still, no voice, no hint of her. He began to search out the perimeter of the place, unlight saber in hand, ready and waiting for anything. With the feel of death still palpable in the air, the sight of destruction still fresh in his mind, it gave him a dreadful sense of fear that filled his gut with acid. 

A shuffling noise came from around the corner, coming closer. He waited, scared, saber held to his chest to jut out to the side once it was lit. The noise came even closer. Finally he rounded the corner, igniting his saber, only to see Zaria’s startled face as she recoiled, tripping and tumbling down in front of him. Something hung in her arm, a basket, filled with different sorts of fruit and berries, now scattered all over her and the ground below. 

“ _Oh!_ I’m so sorry,” Obi-wan said as he disengaged his saber, clipping it quickly to his belt with the force. He reached out a hand to help her up, which of course, she refused as she began to gather the spilled contents of the basket. Obi-wan quickly took to helping her with the task. 

Crushed berries and fruit stained her moss green silk dress that she took a moment to fret over before she stood up. “Are you always so on edge?” She remarked critically, though not as harshly as he had expected. 

A wave of heat took over his face for a moment as he realized how out of control he had let his emotions become. He had been so shaken by everything he had seen, such things he had never been witness to before, he had lost his focus. Zaria could have just as easily been killed, by his hand, no less. All from his careless nature. Another feeling took him over, that of shame. He would fail to be a good Jedi knight, such behavior deemed as much. Because even when he tried, he failed. 

A morose look took over his features. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

Zaria elbowed him in the ribs as she walked past, put off by his too sensitive demeanor. It hurt quite a bit, hitting an already healing deep bruise, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. He had become practiced over the years at staying silent while in pain. “Lighten up, padawan,” she said in a gentle prodding tone, walking towards the stack of clothes on the porch. He swallowed hard as he followed her, trying to shake off the new sense of dread that filled him, things he hadn’t had to think about for days swimming in his mind. 

“Anyways I figured we should eat when we can, and there happened to be a few trees and bushes behind the place with all this fruit, so,” she paused, glancing back at him, waiting for a response.

“Uh, maybe later,” he added, still feeling a tad sick from everything. The pain that still ached in his side, the dead bodies, the girl, running. Nearly killing the one he was here to protect. The girl who would rather have died than be used by those soldiers who pinned her down. All of it made him too aware of his incompetence, had him too stuck in his head to even think about eating.

“Suit yourself,” she shot back in her typical abrupt manner, searching through the stack of clothes on the porch with a look of displeasure on her face. “Is this all there was?” She asked, obviously disappointed. 

“I’m sorry, your majesty, they were a little short on selection,” Obi-wan shot back, thoroughly annoyed. How could she be complaining about a change of clothes when they were supposed to be blending in? And in the midst of so much death and destruction, of all places. How did she even have the nerve to complain about the type clothes they were taking from dead?

“Well if we have to go out in this, we would be just as well to stay in our already very conspicuous clothes.” She added, just as vehemently. 

Obi-wan’s blood was about to boil. She had been insufferable, or near to it the entire time, it was true. But this, even for her, was a new low. “I’m sorry the dead didn’t have anything better to offer,” Obi-wan said, turning to her, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You misunderstand,” Zaria said, voice turning from offense to serious as she held up a tunic, pointing at the black and red lettering inscribed on the light brown fabric. “Do you know what this means?” She asked. 

By the way she spoke, he guessed it couldn’t have been anything good. “No,” Obi-wan admitted, “I haven’t studied that language yet.”

“It’s a loyalist slogan. No wonder they turned this homestead upside down. The people who lived here must have been loyalist to have this sort of garbe on hand.” She said in a saddened tone. “Their allegiance may have very well gotten them killed.”

“Still, they are dead for one reason or another. It doesn’t change anything,” Obi-wan said in a calmer tone, shaking his head. “Well at least we have the leggings and cloaks. We’ll have to make due till we find other tunics. I can use my undershirt well enough as it is.” 

“I suppose I can make my own modifications,” Zaria added, as she began to disrobe, pulling her long silk gown over her head, revealing the soft white undergarment beneath. 

Shocked by her disregard for privacy, Obi-wan spun around, thoroughly embarrassed. “Uh, just tell me when you’re finished,” he said in a choppy voice, face turning a bright red. 

Zaria giggled. “Are all Jedi such prudes?” She asked, pulling up the leggings over her hips. “Besides, I need your help,” she added, still obviously amused. 

“A-are you sure?” Obi-wan said, still too petrified to turn around. 

“Yes, please,” Zaria insisted. 

Obi-wan turned reluctantly, willing himself to meet her eyes, then feeling foolish for being so put off at all. The undergarment hung long, just as her dress had, she was hardly indecent. His prudishness caused another wave of blush to rise in his cheeks. 

Zaria looked thoroughly entertained. “Can you take your saber and fashion this into a tunic? It will have to do for now.” She asked politely, aware of his delicate demeanor. 

“Uh, sure,” he said, bringing his saber in hand. “How should we go about this?” He asked timidly, his submissive demeanor getting the better of him. 

“I’ll take it off and you can make the alteration.” She said, pulling up at the hem. “For this part, would you please turn around?” Zaria asked, eyebrows raised with an expectant look on her face. She was doing her best to be polite, but Obi-wan was flustered as ever. 

“Y-Yes, of course,” He said, quickly turning around. Another cursed wave of red rising up from his neck over his face. 

“Here,” Zaria said, handing the garment over to him. He quickly held it out, shearing off the bottom skirt from it, and held it behind himself for her to take back.

“Thanks,” she said, quickly slipping it back over her head. “Well, it’s a tad too cropped on one side, but it will have to do.” She said, Obi-wan still facing away from her. Zaria giggled again. “You can turn around, now.”

Obi-wan spun back to face her. Indeed, he had sheared off entirely too much at the left side, and at the right side the garment fell past her hip. Although he admitted to himself, the way it fell was quite flattering on her. 

“It’s not so bad,” Obi-wan said, shaking out one of the cloaks and handing it over to her. 

“If you say so, padawan.” She shot back in jest as she threw the cloak around her shoulders, bringing the hood over her head. “I’m going to wait over here while you change clothes.” She nodded towards the tree line, picking up the basket of fruit and heading out.

“Arlight,” Obi-wan said as she walked away, peeling off his own sweat soaked and thoroughly dirtied cloak and leggings. Fresh leggings felt wonderful. He always did detest being dirty and unkempt. As he unclasped his belt and pulled off his jerkin and outer tunic as he wished there was a replacement for the filthy undershirt that he would have to make due with. 

Clasping his belt back over his cream colored shirt, he pulled on the new cloak over his shoulders. It was a tad bit longer than he would have liked, but it was better than wearing the old dirty one. And this one was of an olive green color, so it would give him a strategic advantage, blending in with the hues and colors around him. 

Quickly he kicked dirt over their old discarded clothes, then followed Zaria into the forest again. 

“Zaria,” he called out as she waited a few moments for him to catch up to her. “I thought we were heading out on the road from here?”

“We could do that, but more than likely there will be patrols, and this homestead was at the end of this road. If we followed that out, we risk the likelihood of being discovered, suspected, even implicated in the killing of the soldiers out here. This was made to look like a random attack, but I have no doubt Uncle Henrik has coordinated more like it, who knows how many. If we are returning, unscathyed from one of these areas, we will not meet with any who would help us.”

Obi-wan sank in spirit. She was right. He had been looking forward to reaching a town by the end of the day, but that looked less likely as things were. They might not end up reaching anywhere, might end up having to spend another night in the forest. “I see your logic.” Obi-wan replied, sauntering behind her as she led them deeper, leaving the ravaged homestead behind them. 

“Here, take one,” Zaria said, turning to Obi-wan, basket held out in hand. “It could be a long walk.”

_As if it wasn’t already?_

“What are they?” He asked warily.

“I don’t know,” Zaria replied. “A lot of these i’ve never seen before. But there is a meiloorun down in there somewhere, I think.”

“I suppose I will,” Obi-wan said, reaching down to grab a handful of berries.

“What, you don’t like meilooruns?” Zaria asked, nearly offended.

“Deathly allergic,” Obi-wan explained.

“Let’s hope you aren’t allergic to those, then,” Zaria added.

“Yeah,” Obi-wan said gingerly. “Well here goes nothing,” he said, popping one small green berry into his mouth, immediately regretting it. The sour taste filled his senses as he tried to swallow the taste out of his mouth as quickly as he could. Zaria took to laughing at him for his reaction, his eyes watering from the tartness of it. “On second thought, i’m alright for now,” Obi-wan said, dropping the other berries back into the basket.

“Be that way then,” she said, raising her eyebrows at him before turning away, marching off deeper into the forest. “You’ll get hungry sooner or later,” she added as she went, pushing some of the brush and vines aside as the undergrowth became thicker than before. 

They continued on into the forest until night grew close. As the sun began to set, the reality was that they were indeed going to have to spend another night out in the open. Obi-wan dreaded it as he hoped they would at least be spared the rain. As the clouds began to form in the sky above them, he suspected they would not be so lucky. 

“Well I suppose it’s time for us to look for a place to stay for the night,” Zaria said, sounding defeated. 

“Indeed,” Obi-wan added in agreeance. He stretched out with the force, feeling the proximity of what was around them. “Follow me,” Obi-wan said, sensing possible shelter not far away. Zaria trailed behind without protest. 

Quickly they came upon a small cave carved out of a mossy rock wall. Obi-wan searched it out, sensing no significant life forms inside, aside from what seemed to be a few small rodents. “It’s safe,” he said, waiving Zaria to come with him inside. 

“In there?” She asked incredulously. “You want me to go in _there?_ ” Obi-wan could sense the fear that shrouded her words. 

“It’s quite safe, I assure you,” Obi-wan said gently. “We could even build a fire without drawing too much attention to ourselves.”

Still, Zaria was hesitant to agree. “Are you sure this is the best place to stay?” 

“Yes, why? Is something the matter?” Obi-wan asked, prodding as to what her reservations were about.

“I just, really don’t like small spaces,” Zaria said open-endedly. Obi-wan suspected there was more to it, but he let it go for now. 

“I’ll go in first and start a small fire. Will you feel better about it then?” Obi-wan asked amiably. 

“I guess,” she said, still not liking it at all, he could sense. But he could feel she wasn’t letting on to how much she truly hated the idea. 

Obi-wan made quick work of going in and clearing out the cave. There was already a generous amount of brush lying dried out on the floor, enough to start a small fire at least. After venturing out a few more times he gathered some small sticks that seemed dry enough to be able to burn. With his saber, it only took seconds to start a fire. Thankfully, the cave hooked around in a sharp curve, concealing the light from the fire for the most part. Not that he expected anyone to be out here looking for them in the dead of night, but it helped to be as hidden as possible with circumstances being what they were. 

Night had just fallen as he finished up, inviting Zaria inside to take shelter from the elements. Already it was beginning to feel colder than it had the last night, though perhaps that was due to wearing fewer layers, he thought. Zaria looked as if she were turning blue by the time she dared to go inside. 

Obi-wan settled in next to the fire, motioning for her to do the same. He was actually quite pleased with himself at finding this place, making a fire for the two of them. It would be a vast improvement to their sleeping situation from the night prior. 

“See? It’s not so bad, is it?” Obi-wan said as she sat down at the very back of the cave, warming herself next to the fire. 

“I guess not,” she said, sounding skeptical still. “I can’t wait to sleep in a bed again,” she said wistfully, disappointed look on her face. 

“I share the sentiment,” Obi-wan nodded at her, putting his hands to the flames, as close as he could without hurting himself. 

Zaria looked at him purposefully, a question on her tongue, she took a breath as if to speak, but then waited, pulling her knees to her chest as she looked at Obi-wan pensively. She continued to look at him, then back at the fire for several more minutes before Obi-wan became frustrated.

“What is it?” Obi-wan asked, slightly annoyed. 

“What?” Zaria asked, innocently yet genuinely. 

“You’ve been staring at me for the last ten minutes as if you had something to ask.” Obi-wan explained. 

Zaria shrunk back a bit. “Oh,” she said, as if she hadn’t realized how observant he had been, or how obvious she was. 

“So what is it?” Obi-wan asked, intrigued as to what she might ask him that she was so timid to voice. She was always so forward, for her to be anything but was unexpected. 

“Who is _Qui-gon?_ ” Zaria asked bluntly, shaking off all of the awkwardness from before. 

Obi-wan’s mood dropped, his face blanched. His heart twisted and wrenched in his chest. “Where did you hear that name?” Obi-wan said shocked, hurt written on his face. 

“Last night, when you were dreaming, you kept on saying it, asking him to stop, like he was hurting you or something... I’ve been curious ever since, but I didn’t want to ask. It seemed, invasive,” she explained in the same flat manner, not responding to Obi-wan’s obviously negative reaction.

“Well it _is_ invasive.” Obi-wan said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Like I said, I didn’t want to ask.” Zaria came back, sounding equally frustrated. “I’m sorry,” she added in a kinder tone. 

Obi-wan’s aura went darker. “I don’t need you to be sorry,” he spat back, still intensely defensive. Zaria put her hands up in the air in response, signaling him to back off. 

A few more moments of silence passed between them, as Obi-wan cooled off he realized how senselessly reactive he had been. He regretted it. It wasn’t something she would know about, she hadn’t wanted to ask until he prodded her. 

“He’s my master.” Obi-wan said plainly, quietly.

“Hm?” Zaria said, jerking her head up from her arms, as she had been dozing off. 

“You asked who Qui-gon is. He is my master.” Obi-wan said as even as he could, trying to leave out the shame in his voice that he heard bleed through despite his efforts. 

“Oh,” she said, a fleeting look of concern falling on her face that she hid quite well after her brief lapse in expression. “What does that even mean?” She asked, brow furrowed in question. 

“Every padawan has a master, a teacher, who guides them until they are knights themselves.” Obi-wan explained in a very textbook like mechanical way, his voice even nearly robotic. Then his tone dropped with involuntary shame. “I am a padawan. Qui-gon is my master.”

“Oh,” she said again, nodding her head in understanding. He could feel the concern that she did not let show. It bothered him, though he did his best to not let that show either. “Okay then.” Zaria said, bringing the subject to a close. More questions boiled beneath the surface, Obi-wan could sense it. Though he was thankful that she chose to leave them unspoken, for now at least. 

“Goodnight, Obi-wan” Zaria said, nestling down between the fire and the back wall. 

“Goodnight,” Obi-wan echoed, watching the flames, hypnotized. Again he would stay watch, as long as he could. If he was lucky, he would be able to forgo sleep all together.


	7. Contingency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin awakes

“Master Windu,” Yoda regarded him as the man entered his meditation chamber, taking a seat across from him. “Appreciate taking time out to speak with me, I do.” The old Jedi nodded, as his hands rested comfortably atop his knees. 

“Of course, master Yoda.” Mace bowed his head reverently in response. “What is it you wish to speak to me about?”

Yoda took a pause for breath. Mace could sense the nature of the topic was burdensome to the little green Jedi, something that weighed on him terribly. “It is Obi-wan, I wish to discuss.”

Mace had suspected as much. “Obi-wan’s defection to the darkside was unforeseen, and a terrible loss to the order,” he added respectfuly, although he could already sense Yoda’s disagreeance in the matter. 

“Fall to the darkside, I sense he has not,” Yoda said, pain in his voice. “Though shroud him, the dark does. Of his own, perhaps it is not.” He suggested open endedly yet decisively. 

“You don’t trust master Qui-gon’s report?” Mace said tilting his head to the side, studying his features. “That is a bold accusation, master Yoda. One not to be made lightly.” He warned. “Master Jinn has had his fair share of being at odds with the council, but that hardly warrants such accusations.”

“About his differences, this is not. Muddled by the dark, everything has become. Perhaps master Qui-gon’s knowledge too, is skewed by darkness.” Yoda suggested, trying to sway Windu to widen his perspective.

“I sense you do not think it is so,” Mace added boldy. “You would accuse master Qui-gon of treachery to the order.” He said defensively. He was right.

Yoda let out an exasperated sigh. “Blinded by our friendships we must not be. Such as I sense you have become.”

Mace became frustrated in response, even more defensive. “Were this an accusation of any in the order, I would say the same. Friendship has nothing to do with it.”

“Be that as it may, get to the bottom of this mystery, we should.” Yoda said kindly, reaching out to his fellow Jedi. 

“Master, you are the only one on the council who feels this way. The rest of us trust Qui-gon’s report.” Mace said, doubling down. 

“Trust in my feelings, I must. Even if blameless Qui-gon is, something sinister in our midst there is. Answers there will be, if Find Obi-wan we can.” Yoda said, attempting to find some common ground.

“I suppose we can spare one Jedi to investigate.” Mace said, giving in slightly. “But you must be content with their findings even if it goes against what you had hoped.” He added in a stern voice

“Grateful I am for your support, master Windu, especially since differing opinions, we have.” Yoda said graciously, bowing his head. 

“Well you are right, master Yoda. If we can find Obi-wan we can learn much about the darkness in our midst. You are not the only one to sense it. I sense it as well.” Mace said in agreeance, nearly reluctant to admit. “Who do you suggest we send to investigate?”

“Hmm. A careful choice, we must make. For a delicate mission, this is.” Yoda said contemplatively, placing a small hand on his chin. “Quinlan Vos, perhaps. Useful his skills of psychometry would be.”

“I will speak with him.” Mace said, nodding with approval, standing up to leave. “Is there anything else, master Yoda?”

“One more thing,” he said contemplatively, as Mace moved to sit once again. “Something I wish to tell you, there is.” Yoda said, hesitancy in his voice. “The night Obi-wan took young Anakin, come to me, he did. Afraid he was, of what, I wasn’t sure.”

“Fear is the path to the darkside,” Mace said, echoing Yoda’s popular mantra back to him. 

“Yes, yes. But besides the point, that is. About to speak with him I was, before interrupted we were. Looking for him, Qui-gon was. Much to say I felt Obi-wan had, before Qui-gon came for him.”

“So what is the point then, master Yoda? It hardly seems suspicious to me.” Mace spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Fearful of his former master, Obi-wan was. Sensed it I did.” Yoda said, wishing Mace could truly see his point of view instead of simply humoring him. 

“Qui-gon said he knew Obi-wan had been slipping to the dark, jealous of Anakin’s potential. Under the circumstances, you could hardly blame him. He probably wanted to council him, Qui-gon said as much in his report. He had been constantly trying to reach out to him before Obi-wan snapped. Fear doesn’t indicate anything more or less than what Qui-gon had already spoke of.” Mace said in an assuring tone.

“Perhaps.” Yoda said, sensing there was nothing more to say to the man. He had approved of the investigation, after all. That was all he really needed. “Thankful I am for your insight, master Windu.”

“Is that all, master?” Mace said, getting up again from his seat and taking leave. 

“Speak to Vos, I will. Need to waste more time on my own pursuits, you do not.” Yoda said as he took to standing also with the aid of his gimmer stick, escorting Mace to the door.

“As you wish, master Yoda,” master Windu replied. “May the force be with you.” He said, before turning around and heading away. 

“As with you, master.” Yoda spoke, sadness and frustration at the core of his being. It was frustrating, what the order had become. Over the years he had witnessed many things come to pass. He had seen Jedi fall to the dark, he had witnessed redemption. His experience paired with his own feelings told him something was amiss. At least now he would have the ability to investigate further, even if no one else believed in his quest. 

Yoda walked slowly back to his meditation pad, leaping up again, and taking a breath before he keyed his comlink on. “Master Vos, speak with you I must. Urgent, it is.”

“Of course, master. I will be right there.”

…….

“Anakin, can you hear me?” A voice called out, foggy, just out of reach as the boy came slowly to awareness. “Anakin, wake up,” the voice said. It was a strong voice, one he thought he had heard before, but he couldn’t quite place it. 

Anakin blinked his eyes open slowly. He felt heavy, groggy, like he had slept for too long. The only other time he could remember feeling this way was after Gardulla the Hutt had him beaten so badly, he had broken three ribs and his arm, among other soft tissue damage. He had slept for two weeks after that. This felt something like that, but his body didn’t hurt at all as he moved up on his hands, propping himself up on the soft surface. 

“Anakin, how do you feel?” the voice asked. It was the voice of a man, deep and low. His face looked kind, but empty. His hair long and gray. 

“I feel weak, but nothing hurts,” Anakin said, looking around himself still, very confused as to where he was. He was searching his memories, trying to place a name to the face of the one who sat in the chair at his side. 

“I don’t want to be rude mister, but where am I?” Anakin asked innocently, cocking his head to the side as he continued to study the other mans face. 

“You’re in the halls of healing,” the man said, seeming to be shocked by Anakin’s persistent confusion. “In the Jedi temple,” he continued, surveying the boys face, who remained unsure. “On Coruscant.” he added, seeing if it would ring any bells. Apparently, it did not. 

“Oh,” Anakin said even more baffled than before. “Is my mom here? Can I see her?” He asked, hopeful look on his face. 

“No,” the man replied, shaking his head, his long silver hair swaying to and fro. “I’m afraid not. Anakin, what is the last thing you can remember?”

The boy’s face scrunched up with effort as he tried to file through his memories, searching for the most recent one. “I’m not sure, I know I was working for Watto in his shop. I fix things for him. Sometimes I race pods, too.”

“I see,” the man said, concerned look again on his face. “Anakin, i’m afraid you’ve had a bit of memory loss. You’ve been on Coruscant in the Jedi temple for the last five weeks. Well, in the halls of healing for the last three. You were badly injured.”

For a moment the boys face lit up. “So i’m not a slave anymore?” He asked with wonder, eyes full of hope for the future. 

“No. You are my Padawan.” The man said plainly. 

“I’m going to be a Jedi?” Anakin asked, still full of childish excitement. 

“Indeed.” The man nodded towards him. 

“So what about my mom?” Anakin asked, a saddened look falling on his young face. 

“She couldn’t come with us, Anakin. I’m sorry.” The man said in a tone that was supposed to be sad, but it sounded hollow, even Anakin could tell. 

The boy was silent for a moment as his eyes began to gloss over. He could tell the man who sat at his side was growing impatient. Anakin quickly wiped his teary eyes and shook off the sadness he felt. “I wish I could remember saying goodbye is all.” Anakin explained, apology in his voice. 

“In time it is possible your memories will return to you,” the man said reassuringly. Though it did little to help Anakin feel better. 

“So what happened? You said I got hurt.” Anakin said, looking down at his body, feeling out his limbs. “I don’t feel like I was hurt.”

The man let out a small chuckle. “Jedi healers are quite, thorough.” Then his tone changed, becoming more serious. “Although you were indeed, badly hurt. Five broken ribs, broken femur and hip, fractured lumbar spine, and a skull fracture, to be exact. Lots of internal bleeding as well. I was able to get you back here just in time for the healers to save your life.”

Anakin looked on in disbelief. “Thank you,” he said, still not quite understanding. “But if I was hurt that bad, why don’t I feel hurt now?”

“For the last three weeks you’ve been in a healing trance, and have had multiple healers working on you as well. Within the force there is great power, one of such being healing.” The man explained dourly. 

“Oh, wow.” The boy said. “Will I get to learn how to do it, too?” He asked, childish wonder in his voice. 

“Yes, you will get the chance to learn many mysteries of the force.” The man said more genuinely, but somehow vacant. 

“Master Jedi, sir,” Anakin led on, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name,” he explained, face wearing an embarrassed sorry expression. 

“I’m Qui-Gon Jinn, your master.” He said, tinge of something to his voice that the boy couldn’t place, but he knew enough that he didn’t like it. 

“Oh.” Anakin said again, somewhat unenthusiastically. 

“Well, Anakin, since you are better now, I’ve come to take you back to our quarters. Tomorrow we will resume training. Or since you can’t recall training at all, I suppose we will begin your training tomorrow.” Qui-gon said, smug tone in his voice. He was pleased about something. Anakin wished he knew what it was. He always had a good sense about people. He sensed something sinister in his new master, though had no idea what or why. 

“Okay.” The boy said, throwing the covers off of himself, rising to stand. 

Qui-gon stood, walking for the door. “Your clothes and lightsaber are in the bedside table. Dress yourself and I’ll be waiting outside to take you back home.” He said in monotone as the door closed behind him. 

Anakin did as he was told, quelling the excitement within himself as he handled his own lightsaber, resisting the urge to ignite it as he clipped it to his belt, throwing on his outer robe before heading outside. Once he met Qui-gon, the two of them walked in silence for a while, as Anakin’s master led him through, out of the halls of healing, down the corridor to the apartments. Every step of the way, Anakin drank in the sights, the people, the numerous different Jedi filling the temple, different species and colors. It left him feeling a sense of awe and wonder at it, that he one day as well, would be a Jedi knight. He still couldn’t quite believe it. 

As they entered their apartment, Anakin roved about, wandering through each room. But he noticed that there were three bedrooms, and only two of them. It seemed rather wasteful, he thought.

“Master Qui-gon,” Anakin asked turning his head around to face his master who lie reclined on the sofa in the living space.

“Hm?” His master replied, brows raised, listening. 

“Why are there three bedrooms, if there are only two of us?” Anakin asked, puzzled. 

A dark look fell on his masters face at the query. For a moment, the man became very scary. There was really no reason to be afraid, Qui-gon had said nothing, done nothing to make him scared. But there was something to the air around him that felt dark. For a moment he thought perhaps it was a question better left unsaid. 

“There are three bedrooms because there were three of us,” Qui-gon said, rising to his feet as he continued on. “My former padawan lived here as well. He was… very jealous of you, Anakin. Jealous of your potential. Ever since I took you on he had been angry.” The man drew out, coming closer as he spoke until he stood a few paces away, at the door of the unused bedroom.

“What happened to him?” Anakin asked, enthralled by the story.

“Come,” Qui-gon said, walking to Anakin’s bedroom. The boy followed silently. As the door reeled back on the track, his master stepped through, walking over to the wall on the opposite side of the sleeper. He silently ran two fingers over the circle of dark bubbled metal that formed on the wall. “Do you see this?” 

Of course he saw it, he wasn’t blind. “Yes, of course.” Anakin replied, curious still. “What is it?”

“This is where my former padawan cut through the metal of your bedroom wall. After he carved out this piece, he took you while you slept, leaping down into the air traffic below. He kidnapped you. I was seconds too late to catch him. From saving you.” Qui-gon explained, still moving his hand over the scarred metal of the wall. 

“Oh,” Anakin said, at a loss of what to say. The moment had become too serious as he began to feel uncomfortable. 

“It took me all night to find you. By the time I had…” Qui-gon broke off, leaving a silence to grow between them. “You had already been hurt.”

“Your other padawan hurt me?” Anakin said, aghast at what he was hearing. 

“Yes. It was all my fault. I’m very sorry.” Qui-gon said, though his voice sounded off. 

“It’s not your fault if someone decides to hurt someone else,” Anakin reasoned. 

Qui-gon smiled, pleased look on his face for a moment. “Perhaps. Regardless, It’s past your bedtime.” The man said, emotion leaving his voice. 

“Yes, sir.” Anakin said, pouting with his head low as he moved to his dresser to find his sleep clothes. 

His master lingered at the door for a moment before leaving him. He looked as if he had something to say, but never made a sound. It left Anakin feeling even more uneasy as he changed into his sleep clothes, and slipped under his covers. 

He tried to go to sleep, but mostly it eluded him. After being asleep for two weeks, he doubted he would be able to sleep more if he tried. He just stared at the warped metal of the wall with interest, his young mind churning with questions and feelings. Something within himself didn’t quite believe his masters words. There was a quality to the man that left him feeling unsure. As if he couldn’t quite trust him. He wasn’t really sure as to why. 

Although he was unsure if he would be able to sleep, he did try to close his eyes, to rest. Being fatigued in the morning wouldn’t do him any good. As he lie there, he thought of his mother, wondered if she was doing alright, if it was night time or day time where she was at. Wondered if she was thinking of him also. 

He felt she might have been, or at least hoped it was so. It helped him feel just a little less alone, in this giant temple. While it was entirely amazing, it left him feeling sad. That he might not get to see his mother again. He vowed to himself that he would do his best to become a Jedi knight, to go back and save her, save everyone else. That he would become strong, so that no one could ever hurt him, or the people he loved ever again.

Anakin tossed and turned, another thing weighing him down. The thought of his master's other padawan hurting him out of jealousy. It made him feel unsure. Jedi knights were supposed to be valiant, upstanding, morally strong beings. Instead he had been crushed like the slave he once was. Though he couldn’t feel a trace of it in his body, not even seeing a scratch. It was all so odd. So strange. It felt as if he had been pulled out of his old life, plunged into a dream. 

Maybe if he fell asleep now, he would wake up back to his real life, he thought. The thought of it frightened him, now too afraid to sleep. Afraid to go back to his life as a slave. The idea of it kept him awake into the early hours of the morning, until he finally lost the battle, falling asleep despite his best efforts. 

…….

“Bend your knees when entering your combat stance,” Qui-gon ordered, examining Anakin’s form as he practiced. They had been at it all morning, sparring and dueling on the dojo floor, other masters and their padawans aside them practicing, observing.

Although it had been convenient that the memory wipe had been all too successful, it also proved frustrating. While Anakin had done little bonding with Qui-gon during those first few weeks, he had at least established some of the basics. Now to teach it all over again, was irksome to say the least. 

He did his best to keep his temper with the boy, stay within the walls of his constraints. Mostly, he did well. At least, from his point of view. Though the knowledge that Obi-wan wouldn’t not be waiting for him when the day was over weighed heavily on his patience, straining it to the edges of its limits, he feared. 

His master might have said that sending Obi-wan away was a favor to him, but it was indeed more of a punitive measure. Of course to punish Obi-wan for his disobedience, also for Qui-gon. It was a test of his own obedience to his master, to see how far he would go to bend to his will. It was a statement that he could take away what he wanted, demand compliance. It made Qui-gon painfully grind his teeth at the thought of being pushed around. Complying at all was a painful practice, let alone what his master was imposing on him now. 

“No, bend your knees, not like that-” Qui-gon waved at Anakin for him to stop and watch. “See, lower your center of gravity, feet far enough apart that you don’t destabilize yourself as you bend your knees.” He looked down into his padawan’s eyes to see that he was paying attention. Indeed, he was. “Now you try it.” Qui-gon ordered, crossing his arms before his chest. 

Anakin did his best to copy what he had been shown. It was definitely an improvement, yet left some to be desired. Anakin looked with unsure eyes to his master. It only made Qui-gon more frustrated. “Like this, master?” He asked in a small voice. 

“Better,” Qui-gon said, cocking his head to the side. “Still needs work.” He could see master Windu approaching him, looking as if he had something to discus. “Keep on running through the form, practice with the remote, no blind this time. Focus on your form, only.”

“Yes, master,” Anakin said, switching on the practice remote and taking stance, even better this time than the last. 

Qui-gon gave a dry smile. So the boy was learning at last. He may have been the chosen one, but he seemed quite dense to Qui-gon. He felt part of it was resistance on Anakin’s part, a reluctance to bond with him. As with all things, Qui-gon would eventually get his way, so he didn’t worry too much about it right now. This was their first day working together as far as the boy could remember after all. 

“Master Jinn,” Mace regarded him as he walked to stand beside him. “Training goes well?” He asked, something hidden in his voice. 

“We make progress. Slow, but progress nonetheless. I fear the boys injuries were far more substantial than we had thought, he has no memory of even coming here.” Qui-gon explained, interjecting the true frustration he felt into his voice, hiding the undertones of gratification that his plan had worked, that Anakin had indeed forgotten his night in Obi-wan’s care. 

“It is unfortunate,” Mace said, pained. “I’m still, truly sorry about Obi-wan, it was a great loss.”

“Indeed,” Qui-gon said, bringing his surging feelings of anger on the topic underfoot with some effort. 

“That is actually, what I’m here to talk to you about, master Jinn.” Windu explained in a softer voice, to keep their conversation between themselves. 

“Oh?” He said, trying to remain casual. “What is it?”

“It’s master Yoda,” he began, already Qui-gon’s mood sinking, anger coiling around that wretched little green Jedi master, how sure he had always been, how blind. Now, more than likely meddling in affairs that were not his concern. “He’s begun an investigation into where Obi-wan has gone off to, in hopes of revealing more about the Sith that we’re dealing with.”

“I see,” Qui-gon said, his mind churning with thoughts and ideas, any way to spin this around to his advantage. 

“I just mean to give you some encouragement, Qui-gon. If we are able to find Obi-wan, he may just find his way back to the light as well.” Mace clapped a hand on Qui-gon’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “I know how hard this has all been for you.”

“I appreciate that,” Qui-gon said carefully, lacing just the right amount of sadness into his voice. “If I might inquire, who is it tasked with the investigation?”

“That i’m afraid I can’t divulge, though I wish I could. I may have already said too much already,” Mace said, eyes narrowing slightly. “I just wanted to give you a little piece of mind.”

“I can appreciate that as well, master,” Qui-gon added gingerly yet with a small smile, intended to be genuine. “But as in all things, we must trust in the will of the force,” he added in his routine facade. 

“Yes, master Jinn, yes indeed.” Mace said, nodding thoughtfully. “Just know my thoughts are with you, Qui-gon. And if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“Absolutely,” Jinn gave him a wide smile, a very convincing one at that. 

“Alright, well, carry on, master Jinn, I’m sure your padawan needs all the catching up he can get.” Mace said, eyeing Anakin with a little less approval than he held towards his master. 

“Indeed he does.” Qui-gon said in full agreeance. “Master Windu,” he called out, catching the man as he had already began walking away. 

Mace spun on his heels, turning to face him again, inquisitive look on his face. 

“Thank you,” Qui-gon said, heartfelt. 

Mace gave him a warm smile and a nod as he walked away. 

Qui-gon turned back to watch Anakin continue on, deflecting the bolts the remote aimed at him. Although his form was less than ideal, the youngling was indeed accurate. Sloppy, but accurate, in a savagely ruthless sort of way. He would need training, lots of it. But he indeed held great potential, more than ten padawans combined. Qui-gon smiled as he studied the boy as he kept on, dark thoughts forming in his mind. 

It shouldn’t have been unforseen that Yoda would investigate Obi-wan’s disappearance further. Out of all the Jedi, he had always been the hardest to fool. How Obi-wan had approached him just before he vanished, of course Yoda would be having his own reservations. Judging from Mace’s reaction, no one else felt the same. No one else had to. Master Yoda would act of his own accord, he had the seniority, the sway. He hardly even needed to ask permission. 

He had covered his tracks thoroughly, the likelihood of Obi-wan being found was slim, even though he was still on world. The lower levels of Coruscant were nearly like entering another realm altogether. Hard to track anyone through that mess, let alone infiltrate the facility where he was being held. 

A pang of jealousy stabbed at his heart, gripping his mind darkly. Obi-wan was no doubt being handled, used, by some high ranking officer, senator, someone deemed important in the corrupt conglomerate that had become republic politics. If they wanted to have someone, buy someone, Qui-gon had no qualms about it. But Obi-wan was his, no one else's. His, alone. 

Perhaps it would be better if the investigation did get close, just not too close. Not enough to endanger his own cover, but enough to need to move Obi-wan elsewhere. He had already put his foot down about keeping him alive. He would not allow his master to order him dead, besides, he did not suspect his master would even dare push it to that. He knew better. He knew his limits. 

With the possibility of change, came possibility of new, better arrangements. Ones that would suit his needs and preferences, if things went his way. And he most certainly intended them doing so. He would just need to play his cards right. It would be a practice in patience to be sure, but he suspected it would be worth it. Certainly preferable to the alternative. 

His master's original plan had been to keep Obi-wan with Black Sun for the entire year, perhaps even longer. If he manipulated things just right, such a thing would never happen again. Though there were still many unknowns about the scope of the entire situation. He would have to do some of his own digging very soon. It would be a little challenging with a brand new padawan to care for. 

Indeed, Anakin was his primary goal. Training the chosen one was imperative. If he was the one to do it, he would have the upper hand when the boy matured into a man, when he came into his power. Qui-gon would be able to control him, kill his master, rule on his own, with Anakin at his side. They would be unstoppable. All it took was patience in the here and now, to reach his goal. 

And he would do all of those things. But first, he had to get Obi-wan back. Then, maybe he would be able to think straight. He found it uncanny, how his focus, his iron will, had been less so in the mans absence. No one could possibly replace him. It was something like an addiction, he needed him to function properly. 

He might have been repulsed by it, but he wasn’t. Because Obi-wan was his. Just like he needed food, water, clothes. He needed him, too. There was no shame in it, he didn’t feel weaker for it, though his master would say otherwise. He didn't much care. Even his master was a means to an end. And the end certainly justified the means, even if it was groveling and lowering himself to serve the man. And to an extent he did respect him, for a while, even envied him. But he had grown in his power since that time. While in aspects he did respect his master still, he was beging to outgrow even him. 

“Master?” Anakin asked. His remote program had finished as the child stood, staring up at Qui-gon, traces of fear in his expression and his voice as Jinn realized he had been glaring at the child for a few moments now, lost in thought. Lost in the idea of Obi-wan in his grasp again, distracting him. 

Qui-gon shifted, coming out of his daze. “Again.” He said authoritatively, aggressively. Anakin did as he was told, without hesitation, even more conscious of his form this time around.


	8. Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-wan and Zaria continue their journey

“I feel awful,” Zaria said in complaint, stretching out her arms overhead as they began their walk through the forest for the second day in a row. 

“You feel awful, like what? Like you slept on a _rock?_ ” Obi-wan shot back at her in jest, wide smile on his face. 

“Ha ha very funny, _padawan._ ” She said dryly, grinning back at him. “You know I didn’t think I would ever say this, but that birds nest was pretty comfortable compared to sleeping on a pile of rocks.”

“Suit yourself, at least we had a fire.” Obi-wan said nostalgically as he began to miss it already, since the morning air was quite crisp. He moved more quickly in response, in an effort to warm himself up, taking the lead a few paces ahead.

“I suppose. If we’re lucky, tonight we might even get to sleep in a real bed. Oh, what a luxury it would be.” She said on the edge of sarcasm, but meaning every word of it. 

“It wouldn’t be so bad, I guess,” Obi-wan said. Though in actuality, he was dreading the idea of falling asleep. He was very much enjoying the freedom he had gained while on foreign soil. He didn’t want to close his eyes, only to have his master there waiting for him. And luckily enough, he hadn’t even fallen asleep the night before. The unforgiving rocky surface aided him in his efforts, of course. 

“It wouldn’t be so bad, you _guess?_ ” Zaria said, stopping for a moment in shock towards the comment before she resumed walking. “What are you, mad? Or do you just enjoy pain? We’ve been walking for nearly an hour and I still can’t shake the shooting pain out of my leg from sleeping on that bed of rocks.” She said, offended, as she always seemed to be. 

Obi-wan laughed internally at the sick irony of her remarks. Though he didn’t say a word, as he chose to ignore it altogether. It was better that way, since he didn’t want to make her feel bad or pity him. “Well let’s not get our hopes up only to be disappointed,” Obi-wan said in a level tone. 

“I guess I can see the wisdom in that,” Zaria nodded as she caught up with him. 

“Do you think we will come upon a city soon? One with a transport perhaps?” Obi-wan said, genuinely curious. As much as he didn’t care to rush back to Coruscant, back into his master’s jurisdiction, he didn’t like running for his life either, with another in his charge to protect making things even more complicated. 

“We can hope. In all honesty at this point, i’m lost.” Zaria admitted, in a low tone that spoke of defeat. Obi-wan’s stomach churned with anxiety. Or was it hunger? Fatigue? Perhaps all of those things, he thought. Either way there was only one direction that they could head in, and that was forward. 

“Well I hope we find something soon,” Obi-wan said with thinly veiled desperation.

“Cheer up, we’ll find something eventually. Law of averages,” Zaria said in a matter of fact tone. 

“Yes, yes, I suppose.” Obi-wan grumbled as they continued to trek onwards. 

A few more minutes into their journey and the vegetation began to grow noticeably thicker, until it became nearly impenetrable. Obi-wan all but reached for his saber to carve out a path through it all, but hesitated. The thought of leaving a trail, an even more obvious one than what they were already leaving, felt like a bad idea. 

Both of them paused in frustration, being made both physically and mentally weaker from their hunger. Obi-wan began to grow restless, all of his discontent exacerbated by his lack of sleep. In desperation and perhaps a degree of helplessness, the sounds of the forest around them filled the uneasy silence that drew out between the two of them. In that brief moment, the sound of rushing water was plainly heard through the rustling of trees and underbrush that moved in the breeze. 

“We’re close to a river,” Obi-wan noted, ready and waiting for Zaria’s critical comeback. Surely she had some witty comment reserved for him stating the obvious. 

“Yes,” she said instead, entrenched deeply in thought. “And the air, it’s warm and humid. I don’t think this is just any river,” she said excitedly, tearing her way past the brush ahead of them, Obi-wan trailing behind her nervously.

“What is it then?” He asked confused, wondering what could possibly make someone as uptight and frustrating as the baroness so excited. Perhaps she was going delirious? 

“There are thermal hot springs on Baraan-Fa,” Zaria explained. “I’ve not been to any since I was a small girl.” She said, eyes looking off in the distance as she wandered over some fond memories. It was the first time Obi-wan had remembered her displaying any semblance of real happiness. 

“I see,” Obi-wan said, slightly wary still. “And this will help us, how exactly?” Obi-wan asked, slightly hopeful, but knowing better. 

“They’re quite good for relaxing.” She said plainly in a jovial manner as she glanced back at him wistfully, then ahead again as they made their way to the edge of the bank. 

“I’m not so sure this is the best time to be doing such things,” Obi-wan said warily, avoiding making contact with the bank of the river. Making the rest of their journey with wet shoes or clothes might very well be a death sentence if they weren’t able to find shelter that night. “You know, running for our lives and all…”

“Well I suppose you could go on without me then,” Zaria shot back sarcastically. “You’ll have to knock me unconscious and carry me if you want me to keep going right now.” She said as she kicked off her shoes. 

In all honesty he was partially contemplating it. The thought of traveling without her often burdensome commentary sounded like a pleasant idea. Though the thought of having to quite literally drag her along instead was a powerful dissuader. 

“Spending the rest of the day in wet clothes hardly seems like a good idea,” Obi-wan said in protest, turning to look at Zaria then whipping right back around as she had already shed her cloak and began sliding her pants down her hips. “Wha-what are you doing?” Obi-wan said, flustered as a red color rose up in his cheeks. 

“Well I’m not going to be walking in wet clothes all day, just as you said.” Zaria stated matter-of-factly. “Haven't you ever been to a hot spring before?” She asked incredulously. 

“No I’m afraid I have not.” Obi-wan said in an annoyed monotone. “How long are you planning on staying? We can’t afford to lose much more time.” He added impatiently. 

“Oh, I don’t know, not _too_ long.” Zaria sighed as she settled down into the perfectly hot water, her clothes hanging off a branch of a low swaying tree just off the bank. “You’ve got to get in here, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

Another blush rose up over his cheeks as he kept his back towards the bank. “Oh, that’s quite alright I’m just fine over here.” It wasn’t just the thought of losing time that caused him to feel anxious. He had never seen a naked woman before, and he hadn’t planned on her being the first. Besides, he ought to stand guard while she was resting. If anyone was to find them, he needed to be ready. 

“Honestly are you just set on being completely miserable, or are you just that much of a prude?” Zaria teased.

“What if someone was to find us here right now and I was in there with you?” Obi-wan bit out harshly as he crossed his arms in front of himself. “We would be easy targets.”

“If someone was coming, wouldn’t you know ahead of time? Aren’t Jedi able to sense that sort of thing?” She asked, assuming she was correct. 

“Well, yes but-”

“So what’s the problem then?” She asked expectantly. 

Obi-wan took a breath, frustrated with her incessant prodding. “Perhaps you’re used to people obeying your every wish back at the palace, but I am under no obligation to be subject to your whims,” he ground out stubbornly. 

“So prude it is then,” Zaria chided, splashing some water his direction. 

Obi-wan answered her with an indignant silence. At first he was shocked that she had failed to follow up with another witty retort. A few moments later, he hesitantly looked over his shoulder, seeing if she was still alright. Surely she wasn’t going to let the moment go to waste. Any chance she could get to joke at his expense was never wasted. 

But as he peeked, there was no sign of her. Then, more worried this time, he turned around fully to face the river bank. Still, nothing. But there was something down at the bottom of the river bed. It was Zaria, limbs flailing. His heart slammed in his chest as he waited for her to resurface. But as the movement of her arms and legs slowed, he wasn’t willing to wait much longer. 

Quickly without so much as a second thought, he threw off his cloak and kicked off his boots, diving into the deep of the warm river. Reaching out to grab around her shoulders, he hoisted her up, kicking off of the rocky bottom to the surface above. 

As they broke the surface Zaria began a coughing fit that steadily grew into laughter as Obi-wan released his hold on her. She turned around to meet his gaze, tears in her eyes. 

“You’ll fall for anything,” Zaria gasped out as she was taken over by nearly uncontrolled laughter. “Are all Jedi so easily fooled? Or just the padawans?”

Obi-wan looked back at her with a sneer of enraged frustration. He could hardly wait to be rid of her. Now he would have to spend all day trekking through the forest in wet clothes. And she thought it was funny. 

“You’re _insufferable,_ ” Obi-wan said as he swam for the bank. 

“No, come back,” Zaria laughed, jumping forward to wrap her arms around his neck. Obi-wan tore out of her grasp violently. 

“Get your hands _off_ of me,” Obi-wan spat out, angrily. 

“Well you might as well stay in. Just hang your clothes to dry,” Zaria said gently, very aware of just how upset the man was. She found herself slightly shocked, as she hadn’t seen him this angry, ever. 

Obi-wan continued on towards the bank, ignoring her plea. “I’m sorry,” she said in a true apologetic tone, one he didn’t think he had ever heard before. It caused him to pause, to turn and look back at her. “You’re just so serious all the time, I just thought-”

“You thought what, that maybe our circumstances would be slightly less grim if I took a dip? I’m serious because our lives are at risk! We need to be finding a way to transmit off world. This isn’t a holiday!” Obi-wan shouted fiercely.

Zaria looked up at him, sorry expression on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said again solemnly. “You’re right.”

Obi-wan suddenly felt a wave of regret fall on him. Zaria knew better than anyone, the gravity of their circumstances. Her own father had died as a result. And he would yell at her for trying to forget their dire straits for even a moment. 

He turned back to look at her, suddenly aware of how her long black hair fell over her shoulders and chest, floating delicately around her in the water below. How her shoulders were bare, the tops of her breasts just visible above the waterline. How her sad somber expression made her look strangely beautiful. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time. 

Quickly, he averted his eyes. “No, it’s fine,” he said begrudgingly. “I’m sorry, it’s been a rough couple of days.” Obi-wan sighed with defeat. “I’ll just wring out my clothes and once they’ve dried we can carry on.” 

Zaria remained silent as he turned away from her to pull off his shirt. He tried to remain conscious of where his bruises were, to keep them submerged to avoid any observations or questions. His stomach dropped as he unlaced his leggings and pulled them along with his undergarment off of his legs. There was a strange foreboding feeling about undressing before another. Even if it wasn’t his master ordering him to do so, it left him feeling vulnerable all the same. 

Carefully, he wrung his clothes out as best he could and floated them over to hang dry in the upper branches of the tree Zaria hand folded hers so neatly on. Carefully, he placed his saber atop his clothes, balancing it steadily so that it wouldn’t dislodge easily.

“It is quite nice I suppose,” Obi-wan spoke, still facing the bank, not wanting to look at her. 

“What’s that?” Zaria asked in a neutral tone. 

“The thermal springs,” Obi-wan explained, glancing around their surroundings with caution, feeling too exposed for his liking.

“Oh, yeah.” She answered in a tone of measured caution, still obviously feeling bad about the stunt she had pulled. 

As a silence hung in the air between them, Obi-wan took to wandering up and down in the river, anything other than having to talk to Zaria. As much as he had settled down, he was still quite upset about their circumstances, not to mention unsettled by the fleeting moment where she had looked so alluring. Though he decided exploring was a sufficient distraction to keep him occupied.

Further up stream he found a small cavern entrance that housed the mouth of the spring. Inside were deeper, calmer pools, each one slightly warmer than the last. Further back there was a faint glow. Upon closer inspection, Obi-wan noticed clusters of bioluminescent fungus that clung to the walls of the cave. They emited a dim blue color that was quite beautiful. The place was absolutely majestic. For a moment he even forgot about all of the trouble that had brought them here in the first place.

That was, until he could hear voices dangerously near to their location. Frantically he turned towards the mouth of the cave, searching for Zaria. He could see her a few meters away, afraid to move, eyes darting back and forth as the voices came closer, rustling of brush growing louder. 

Just before the owners of the voices arrived at the bank, Zaria took a breath and submerged herself. Obi-wan took the opportunity to pull her closer through the force, into the cavern behind him. Just as she broke the surface she started to cough, then quickly covered her mouth to stifle it, horrified eyes glancing to the mouth of the cavern as the men that trekked through the forest finally found the river bank. 

“Did you hear that?” A greasy sounding, higher octave masculine voice spoke out. 

“No, what?” Another spoke, much more coarse and rough, nearly a rumble. 

Zaria trembled fearfully, retreating back further into the cavern. Obi-wan followed hesitantly, keeping his eyes forward to the mouth of the cave. 

“Do you think we’ll find her?” The first voice asked. 

“I hope so,” the other replied, a hint of something dark in his voice. “When we do, I get to have her _first,_ ” he nearly growled. Obi-wan’s stomach sank, violence pooling around him as Zaria shuddered at the man’s comment. 

“But what about that Jedi?” The other asked, nearly fearful as they scanned the river bank. Now Obi-wan could just barely see them from around the bend in the cavern. Zaria huddled behind him, clinging to him tightly, peering up over his shoulder. 

“What about him? We kill him, of course. The boss only wants the girl alive, to make an example.” He explained. 

“I guess. But I hear it ain’t so easy to just kill a Jedi,” the man spoke warily. “They’ll break your neck where you stand just like that,” he said as he snapped his fingers. 

“Have you ever seen a Jedi?” The gruff one asked. 

“Well, no. Have you?” The other asked. 

“No, but you can’t believe everything you hear. I’m sure nearly all of it's pure legend. Go ahead and let him try to kill us. No one can outrun a blaster bolt.” The man laughed darkly, slapping a hand at his holstered weapon. 

“I suppose not,” the other said, still cautious. 

“Now let’s split up, you search up here, i’ll go further down and see If we can pick back up on their trail.” The man ordered. 

“Sure thing, boss,” the other said as he wandered closer to the mouth of the cavern. 

_Great,_ Obi-wan thought. So they had been tracking them this entire time. Stopping had only given them enough time to catch up. Though he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset with Zaria, who still trembled as she clung to him even tighter still. All they could do was try to hide well enough for the men to give up and move on. Especially since Obi-wan had left his lightsaber up in one of the treetops, he was mostly defenseless, not confident in the odds enough to take both of them on, naked with no weapon.

Obi-wan turned to face Zaria. “We need to get as far back here as we can,” he whispered quietly, eyes glancing to the entrance from around the corner, and back to her again. Zaria nodded her head hastily as the two of them swam back as far as they could, eventually meeting with a part that narrowed down, giving only a few inches of space between the ceiling and the water. 

Obi-wan reached out, feeling past the narrowed passage. A few feet further was another cavern space, large enough for both of them. It could prove to be the ultimate hiding spot until their pursuers passed over.

“Hold your breath and follow me,” Obi-wan ordered as Zaria nodded silently again. 

Seconds later they surfaced on the opposite side of the wall. Thankfully this section was well lit with the luminous fungus. On the ceiling above was what looked like little galaxies and star systems, dotted and swirling, descending down onto the walls. Were they in any less danger, Obi-wan would have felt more awe for it. But now with nowhere further to run, they were stuck. Eventually they would run out of air, too, and be forced back down stream. 

“So now we just wait it out,” Obi-wan said, swimming to the edge of the small rock bank to rest while he could. 

Zaria did the same, swimming over to hold onto a submerged ledge, keeping herself as covered as possible. “This is all my fault.” She said quietly, voice echoing delicately in the small space. 

“Don’t be absurd,” Obi-wan shot back quickly. “They’ve been following us. They were bound to catch up eventually.”

“And thanks to me, you don’t have your lightsaber.” She added in sorrow. “If you had stayed on guard like you had thought best, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

“Well there’s hardly any use in dwelling on such things,” Obi-wan said, trying to get her to pull out of the self blame she had fallen into. 

Feeling out a submerged ledge, he sat down, water wading up just over his belly button. “You can’t blame yourself for wanting to escape from all of this, even for a little while.” Obi-wan said emptily, thinking how he often wished the same. 

“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” Zaria said accusingly, sounding more like herself. 

Obi-wan smiled in her direction, the two of them bathed in the luminescent blue glow that just barely gave light to their features. “Maybe. Or maybe I just can’t stand your self wallowing. Maybe I prefer you when you’re constantly making fun of me.” He said jokingly. 

“I don’t make fun of you,” Zaria said, scrunching up her eyebrows in disagreeance. “Do I?”

“Oh yes, you do. I’ve been beginning to think it’s your favorite pastime.” Obi-wan chided. 

Zaria shifted her weight on her elbows, shrugging her shoulders. “You’re probably right, I think I have been taking a liking to teasing you,” she said absently as she took a hand to rub at her neck. 

“Is something the matter?” Obi-wan asked, eyes adjusting more to the darkness to see her face slightly pained. 

“This just isn’t the most comfortable position to be in, especially after waking up in such pain,” Zaria explained. “Do you mind if I sit up there with you?” She asked not at all shy. Though she didn’t need to see the blush that rose up over his face to see how flustered he had become so quickly. 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Obi-wan nodded, fixing his gaze to face frontwards, keeping his stare unmoving from the rock wall opposite them. 

Zaria sighed as she sat, reclining against the wall behind them. “Ah, so much better,” she said in relief, glancing over at him. 

“What is it?” Zaria giggled, looking over at him. “Never seen a woman before?”

“No, actually,” Obi-wan admitted nervously, straining his eyes to stay trained in front of him. “Not like this, I mean…”

Suddenly Zaria found herself intrigued. Jedi had always seemed interesting. She had met a few in her lifetime. They always carried such an air of command about them, all but this one. Not that he didn’t carry it at all, but there was something else to him. An innocence. This only added to that quality, as she found herself suddenly and helplessly drawn to him.

She reached out her hand, taking his chin in hand and pulling his gaze to face her. He did so reluctantly, eyes fixed with discipline to meet hers instead of wandering elsewhere. There was something in his eyes, fear? She couldn’t make sense of it. 

Zaria reached down to take his hand, touching it to the skin of her chest, dragging down over her breasts. The look of helpless enchantment in his eyes as his fingertips brushed her erect nipples made her smile lustfully, gasping softly. Then gently, slowly, she moved his hand down lower, touching her ever so tenderly on her lips. 

She guided his hand to her clit, already swollen and engorged. She couldn’t help but let out a sigh of pleasure as she closed her eyes, guiding his fingertips to tease over the bead of tissue. But it wasn’t enough, her body needed to be filled, to feel something inside. She moved his fingers between her lips. Just before she could move his fingers to rub against the spot that ached for him, Obi-wan yanked his hand back. 

His chest rose and fell frantically, his face still looked scared, not at all what she had expected. She cursed herself for not paying better attention. She had been too distracted by her own wants. He shook his head back and forth, closing his eyes. “No, sorry, I-”

“No, I’m _so_ sorry,” Zaria cut him off. “I just thought… nevermind what I thought,” she murmured to herself. “I clearly misunderstood the situation, please forgive me,” she said, placing a hand on her forehead in petrified embarrassment. She had never been with a man who reacted such as he did, so she didn’t realize it at first when she had seen it, the fear in his eyes. She was horrified to think on it, as she dared to look over at him, seeing for the first time the dark spots on his sides that told more than she wanted to know. 

Obi-wan pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them instinctively. All he could think about was what his master might do to him, if he knew what had just transpired. How he might be punished for even thinking about laying with someone else. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to, he had indeed been aroused. But Qui-gon would know. He would make him pay for his infidelity. Obi-wan's body wasn't his to give away as he wanted. Besides just the act of someone touching him, using him for pleasure, made him feel dirty.

Obi-wan glanced over at Zaria, then to the wall again. “It’s not what you think,” he said hastily, sensing her feelings. 

“What do you mean?” Zaria asked confused. 

“You’re very attractive, it’s just... there’s someone else.” Obi-wan tried to explain it away, wishing it was something as simple as that.

“Is it the same person who did _that_ to you?” Zaria asked accusingly, pointing to his ribs. 

Obi-wan sighed. He had hoped it wouldn’t be visible in such low lighting, but clearly he had hoped wrong. “No,” he said as convincingly as possible. “And I don’t have to explain it to you, either.”

“I suppose not,” Zaria said, not buying a single word of it. “How long till we can get out of here, padawan?” She asked, thinly veiled frustration in her voice. 

“They’re still close by, looking for us. Only so long until their search brings them to the end of this cavern. Though I don’t figure they will think to look back here. The only reason I even knew it was here was I sensed it through the force.” Obi-wan explained, counting down the minutes before they would be able to leave this place, wanting nothing more than to be clothed and as far away from anyone's touch as possible.

But then he felt the presence of someone move closer, just on the other side of the underwater passageway between themselves and the rest of the cavern. Zaria opened her mouth to speak but Obi-wan silenced her, placing a hand over her mouth that she quickly swatted away.

The muted sound of a voice echoed through the rocky chamber for a moment, then Obi-wan felt the presence recede back out of the cavern, away from the river bank. All within the span of a few minutes. 

“I think they’ve gone,” Obi-wan said hesitantly, afraid to believe it. 

“Wonderful, let’s get out of here, then.” Zaria said dryly, submerging herself back into the water. Obi-wan quickly followed. 

“Let me go first just in case,” Obi-wan cautioned. 

“Sure, okay,” she said in agreeance, though somewhat begrudgingly. 

Obi-wan dove down, slowly emerging out the other side. Hesitantly the two of them floated down river in the stream, until they reached the tree where their clothing hung. All of it was still undisturbed. Something about it wasn’t quite right. But he wasn’t about to argue getting clothed and back on their journey. 

Zaria rose up out of the water first, while Obi-wan turned away, giving her privacy enough to get dressed before he got out to do the same. Finally with his saber on his belt, he felt slightly better. His clothes were not entirely dry, but dry enough. He would have to make due. His shirt was even slightly cleaner than before, which was an added bonus. 

“Let’s keep on going this way,” Obi-wan suggested as the two of them set out to continue on. “Whoever is tracking us went to double back, but they will be back here eventually. If we keep on this way, we will have a decent head start, maybe even find a village.”

“Alright, but I don’t see any part shallow enough to cross-” Zaria started, but stopped as Obi-wan bounded over the river, landing gracefully on his feet. “Alright, that’s impressive, but what- ah!” She shouted as Obi-wan lifted her up in the air, gently floating her over the river, setting her down with care. 

“A little warning would have done nicely,” Zaria said as she found her balance. 

“Sorry,” Obi-wan said, a little less apologetically than perhaps he ought. 

The two of them pressed on, marching through the forest in search of a road or village, for the better part of three hours in silence. 

“I really am sorry,” Zaria said, breaking the silence, pity in her words. 

Obi-wan couldn’t stand it. “Really, there’s no need.” He said plainly. 

“I should have asked instead of just assuming,” Zaria led on, the implied words left unspoken hanging heavy in the air around them. 

“I’m sure you’re used to men swooning left and right over you. It must be a rare occasion that someone refuses your advances.” Obi-wan said cuttingly, sensing his words tear right through her, as she didn’t even try to come back with any cunning remark. Zaria knew she had earned the comment well over. Obi-wan could sense it was so. All out of pity for him, which made it even more unbearable. 

Although saying anything more would make him appear that much more insecure, so he decided to hold his tongue as he pressed on further in an attempt to stay a few more paces ahead. 

Only a few more meters, and Obi-wan cursed himself. He should have been paying better attention, been less absorbed by his own inner thoughts. Then he might have noticed the squad of troops ahead of him on the road that carved through the forest nearby. 

But now that he had seen them, it was too late. The group had already raised their blasters up at chest level, aiming into the brush. They had clearly seen him, just as their tail now approached, blasters aimed at Zaria’s back who had fallen dangerously far behind, now out of range to be able to protect. 

“Hands up and step slowly out onto the road,” the soldier in command barked. Obi-wan contemplated his options, calculating the odds if he were to take all of them on. In all scenarios, it wasn’t likely Zaria would survive. 

In his hesitation, the soldier wielded a threat against him. “Two of my men already have the girl. Get out here with your hands up or she’s dead!”

Obi-wan gingerly stepped forward, hands overhead as the blasters angled expertly for his head and chest. “Don’t you even think about it,” the commanding officer said, aiming a blaster on his saber before one of the other soldiers carefully closed in to take it off him. 

Zaria was led out of the brush next, held up against the gruff brute from before, one of the two that had followed them out to the river. Obi-wan’s stomach churned with dread as he itched to cut the filthy man down in an instant, instead of allow him to put his hands on the one he was here to protect. 

“You will let her go,” Obi-wan commanded the brute, who did as he was told, persuaded through the force. Zaria took a step forward away from the man, thankful. 

“That’s enough mind tricks, Jedi. One more word and you’re dead.” The Commander barked out. 

The two other men who had blasters on Zaria marched her around to stand near to the squad of soldiers. “Why not just kill him now?” The man with the greasy voice asked. “The boss said he only cares if the girl is alive.”

“He would prefer to have both of them alive, to make an example out of.” The Commander said. 

“Whatever you say, Commander.” The man replied, disappointed look on his face. 

And then there was something else, Obi-wan could sense close by. Very close- the unmistakable force presence of his master. It made him feel both terrified and hopeful all at the same time. He had high hopes of being able to maneuver his way out of the situation all on his own, but at the moment he wasn’t opposed to the help. All else that came to mind he forced himself to shove away. It wouldn’t help him now. 

“Hands behind your back, Jedi,” one soldier sneered as Obi-wan complied, trembling in his limbs as he anticipated his masters arrival. The binders clamped down on his wrists painfully, causing him to wince. “He’s shaking,” the soldier remarked, looking to the rest of the company as they all erupted into laughter.

Beside him, Zaria flashed him a worried look in response to the comment. Only seconds later as the group was still incapacitated with laughter, a green saber flashed through the trees, soaring at neck level through the troops, beheading each and every one of them before returning to its owner behind the treeline.

Quickly Obi-wan called his own saber to hand, using it to free himself of his binds, then turned to help Zaria out of hers as well. The two other goons who had been tracking them stood stupefied for a moment before they bolted off in the opposite direction. Obi-wan reached out, quickly snapping the neck of one, throwing his saber through the other.

As Obi-wan’s saber returned to his hand and disengaged, Qui-gon emerged through the trees, stepping onto the road in front of them. “I had that one covered just fine,” Obi-wan said, trying to pull any trace of confidence he could muster into his voice. 

“Did you now,” Qui-gon said coldly as he came closer. Obi-wan nearly flinched, calling on every fiber in his body to quell his fearful response as his master stood mere inches away, looking down into his eyes with a predatory stare. “Is that anyway to thank your master?”

Obi-wan inclined his head politely. “I am thankful for your help,” he said quietly, glancing sideways at Zaria then back to Qui-gon. “Master, this is Zaria,” Obi-wan explained. “Her Uncle Henrik executed her father, in attempt to takeover and rule in his place. He’s been chasing her ever since. It’s imperative we get republic aid here, fast. Zaria is the rightful ruler. She wishes to join her world with the Republic.”

“Is this true, Zaria?” Qui-gon asked cordially, using the face he often wore when dealing with others who needed to see him as a Jedi master, and not the jailor he really was. 

“Y-yes,” Zaria started, put off by the man’s presence. “How did you find us?” She asked, confused. 

“It was very easy, really,” Qui-gon explained, “Once Obi-wan failed to make contact with the temple at the usual scheduled interval, I was sent to come and find him. Once I arrived I was told the both of you were dead, that there was an attempted coup that killed you along with your father. Of course Henrik tried to convince me he was acting in your stead. It was obvious to me through the force that he was lying. Shortly after he tried to poison me so I fled, searching for you two. In which I found and tailed the two that were tracking you.”

“I am grateful for your service,” Zaria said, giving an honorary bow. A dark smile formed on Qui-gon’s lips as he looked at the baroness, then back at his padawan. 

“Well I’m certainly glad to serve, your majesty.” Qui-gon said happily in a feigned gentle manner. “But we should keep moving. There’s a town just a short while from here. We’ll be able to rest up there, maybe even get a transport. I’m afraid mine is at the palace and confiscated to say the least.”

“Shall we follow the road then? With the both of you i’m sure we will be able to deal with any resistance we might meet with on our way.” Zaria said formally, eyeing both Jedi with a measure of suspicion. 

“Yes, the road would be the best option from here on out.” Qui-gon nodded as he started forwards, the other two following behind. 

While Zaria and Obi-wan had ventured in silence, it hadn’t felt so tedious. But the silence that drew out between the three of them hung heavy in the air. Obi-wan could feel the pent up tension in his master's aura, the strained patience wearing thin. He could feel Zaria’s silent observing eyes stare at them both, examining every exchange between padawan and master. 

By the time they had come upon the town, night was fast approaching, darkness falling over the small village. Of course it worked to their advantage, seeing as they were all wanted by the law. And as there were no transports to be seen it seemed they would have to walk to a nearby town to find one. Obi-wan didn't suspect Zaria was about to want to travel any longer, not with the promise of a bed to sleep in. 

“I think we should keep going, find a transport to get off world, call for reinforcements.” Obi-wan whispered as they approached the small settlement. 

“I’m hardly walking anymore tonight,” Zaria said, face twisted in offense. Obi-wan stifled the urge to shoot her a begging look. He didn’t need her help, or pity. 

“Zaria is right, we should rest while we can. It’s been a while since I have slept, myself.” Qui-gon said in agreeance. 

“Whatever you say, master.” Obi-wan said in a hollow voice as they made a beeline for the village hostel. 

As they entered reception, the space was void of anyone, except for one young girl who stood at the desk. “How can I help you three?” She asked, eyeing all of them suspiciously as they still had their hoods drawn. 

Qui-gon approached the desk. “How many lodgers do you have at the moment?”

“We have no lodgers, all beds are empty.” The girl answered back in monotone, as she was easily suggestable.

“You will give us three beds for the night.” Qui-gon commanded.

“I have three beds for you.” 

“You will tell no one of this encounter.”

“I will tell no one of this encounter.”

“You will close for the night, and go to sleep now.”

“I’m going to close up for the night and go to sleep now,” she said, walking to the front to lock it, then turning to her own private quarters. 

After he was satisfied that the place was closed and that they were alone, Qui-gon led the three of them to the back rooms. Then he picked the one furthest away from the front desk, at the end of the back hall. 

“This room will have to do.” Qui-gon said, motioning to the room that housed three beds, all separated by opaque black curtains. “Though if you wish to have someplace more private, you can take the room next door. That way you’ll be close enough to protect if something goes wrong.” 

“No, I’d rather stick with you two,” Zaria said in a tone of fear. For what reason, Obi-wan couldn’t pin down. His heart sank at the thought of her fearing for him as he hoped it wasn’t what troubled her.

“Whatever you wish, your highness.” Qui-gon said, his words dripping with formality. “However, I’m going to sleep now. As I suggest you both do the same.”

“Yes, it’s been too long since I've slept in a real bed,” Zaria said wistfully as she chose the bed closest to the door and drew the curtain. 

Obi-wan chose the one furthest away, and Qui-gon the middle. Before Obi-wan could draw his curitan entirely, his master looked over at him, eyes full of a ferocious want that he had seen many times before. It caused Obi-wan to stop in his tracks, fearfully frozen in place by the man’s stare. Hesitantly he averted his gaze, pulling the curtain over entirely. 

He sat on the sleeper and unlaced his boots mechanically, placing them at the foot of the bed. He took off his cloak, belt and dirty shirt, placing his saber atop it all on the small bedside table under the lamp. 

He felt empty inside. His small vacation away from his master was over. Now it was only a waiting game. One of the worst.

Sure enough less than two hours later, he heard the curitan between their beds shift quietly as his master passed through. Obi-wan lie with his back facing the curtain, though he didn’t need to look to feel his master come closer. 

Obi-wan’s breathing faltered, stomach clenching in knots as the man climbed under the covers behind him. He willed himself to stay silent when his master put hands on him, gently smoothing over the skin of his back, of his stomach and chest, teasing his nipples. He tried to stay as unresponsive as he possibly could, though loathed himself as he quickly began to become aroused. 

Qui-gon had taken to kissing behind his ear, gently nipping down his neck as he caressed him, all in absolute silence. Then a hand trailed down lower, pressing over his erection as his master worked to unlace his leggings. 

Everything about what the man was doing was so different than usual. Typically he would have ordered him to disrobe. It was rare that Qui-gon ever touched him like this, so gently and sweetly. Obi-wan couldn’t help but be stirred by it, and his master knew it. 

Qui-gon had undressed before he came over, as his girth was already pressing up against Obi-wan’s backside, pulsing hot and hard. But he waited, kissing and touching, taking advantage of Obi-wan’s need for such gentle contact, breathing life into his every desire. 

As much as he loved it, Obi-wan wanted it all to stop. He didn’t want it here, now, like this. He wished his master could be so gentle like this any other time, not with Zaria lying only a few feet away. It made his fulfilled desires feel tainted. 

As Qui-gon had worked Obi-wan’s leggings past his knees, Obi-wan turned to face his master. “Master, please,” he whispered in the man’s ear. Qui-gon took to stroking him in response, causing Obi-wan’s breathing to falter. “Not here, she’ll hear us,” Obi-wan begged, eyes flickering to the curitan, and back at his master who now met his gaze with lustful intent. 

A hand came up to caress the side of his face, as Qui-gon leaned in to kiss his ear. “You must be very quiet for me then,” he breathed into his ear. His words sent electric waves of pleasure and excitement through Obi-wan. It all was chased with a sense of shame, at how taken he could be by the man after all the ways he had hurt him so badly in the past. 

But now, as Qui-gon laid Obi-wan on his back, gently pressing and rubbing at his entrance with his fingertips, he was soft, gentle, loving. He had been starved of his padawan for weeks now. Obi-wan had expected him to be rough and violent. Instead his master had come to save him. Now he kissed him on his lips softly, tongue delicately dancing with his own as he worked one finger into the man gently, relaxing and stretching him, taking care to lubricate him generously as he did. 

Obi-wan all but whimpered at how his master was making him feel, but took every ounce of discipline he had to stay silent, especially when Qui-gon had found a spot that caused orgasmic pleasure to well in his belly, pulsing in his cock. Qui-gon smiled devilishly as he tormented him there, now pushing three fingers in and out of the man with ease. 

Then he withdrew, and climbed between Obi-wan’s legs, placing his pulsing hot tip on the man’s entrance. Obi-wan instinctively tensed, trained from the years of abuse when his master would be harsh and rough with him. But now, instead his master placed a finger on his lips, a reminder to stay quiet for him as he pressed gently but steadily against him. 

Obi-wan took a deep breath, relaxing again quickly, enough so that his master was able to enter him smoothly without any pain. Instead a surging wave of pleasure flooded his senses, one that made it so difficult to keep quiet. But he did as he was told and quelled every cry and whimper that might have told his master how wonderful he was making him feel. Insead he shivered, body trembling from the pleasure that ripped through him. 

Qui-gon bent down to whisper in his ear, lips grazing his flesh as he did, sending more chills down the man's spine. “ _Good boy,_ ” he cooed as he slowly pulled back and entered him again, teasing his tip against Obi-wan’s tight muscle. Each time he pushed back inside, he took care to hit the right spot. Already Obi-wan was too close. He didn’t want to cum yet, he wanted it to last forever. The soft kisses, gentle touches, the way Qui-gon was being so thoughtful, such a generous lover. 

Tears welled in the corners of his eyes as Qui-gon kissed him passionately, moustache tickling him as his master pressed up on him more fervently as he approached orgasm. He wanted it to always be like this, Qui-gon’s gentle commands, something so simple as to keep quiet added another dimension to the mind blowing pleasure his master was pushing through his body. 

Every time he stilled a moan or cry, he was pleasing his master. The words _good boy_ echoed in his mind as Qui-gon kissed him, touched him, smoothed softly over his skin. Obi-wan’s heart fluttered as his master held his braid gently in hand, breathing heavy as their lips parted only for a moment, hovering over each others as they approached orgasm. 

Words chanted in his heart as his master came, pushing Obi-wan over the edge as well as they held each other, shuddering silently in their shared pleasure. 

_I love you, master, I love you, I love you._

In the moment when his master came, spilling milky hot seed inside of him, Obi-wan felt like it should always be like this. Just like this, holding each other so sweetly as tears of happiness leaked out the corners of his eyes. Qui-gon’s softening pulsing cock inside of him as his master lie atop him still, kissing at his neck and shoulder. 

Then Qui-gon withdrew, sitting up and rolling away from him. Obi-wan caught his arm, pulling him gently back down to lie with him a little while longer. With no telling expression on his face, Qui-gon allowed his padawan to pull him back down under the covers as the younger man nestled up against his masters chest. 

Qui-gon continued to hold him like that, until Obi-wan drifted off to sleep. Then he took leave with care, not to wake his padawan. That night for the first time in many years, Obi-wan slept deeply, not a single nightmare to disturb him.


	9. Friend

Quinlan Vos’s life was one lived close to the shadows. He had gained a reputation to match. But that wasn’t to say the council didn’t like him, though there was a certain understanding between them, one that remained unspoken. Vos knew that his heart could be persuasive, even difficult for him to bargain with once it had been set in its way. It was the guidance of others, like his former master Tholme, who had been his other half. His reasonable half. 

He didn’t resent his master for it, or any other Jedi that balanced out his polarized ways of thinking. It wasn’t that he ever tried to be obstinate, quite the opposite in reality. He knew his weakness, it was equally a strength in many aspects. Living on the edge of the light, closer to the things of darkness gave him a unique perspective on many things that would have been impossible for the most valliant of Jedi to see or understand. But it also could prove to be deceptive at times, certainly clashing with the code. So he had come to appreciate others for the qualities that they had, that he did not. Just as he had his own unique set of traits and attributes that made him useful where others may not have been. 

At times it had felt like a curse, perhaps something in the crimson dark of the blood that coursed through his veins, the blood of a Kiffar. The evidence of his heritage written in a gold tattoo that splayed out in one broad flat line across the middle of his face. Perhaps it was something even more intrinsic than that, written in the cells of his being, given to him by the living force from the time he had only been a small light in his mother’s womb. Whatever it was made little difference. He walked the edge of where the light ended, where the darkness began all the same. 

In moments such as this, he could feel darkness in ways others could not. Though the topic was grave, indeed. His heart already warred with what he was hearing, not wanting to believe, but not knowing what to think instead. 

The ethicality of it all sat uneasily in his stomach, like a heavy weight, a burden. He wanted to reach out, to confide in master Tholme, as he had with many things since knighthood. He was never too proud to ask for help or advice. But master Yoda had stated many times over he was to tell no one. It felt wrong, but to go against master Yoda felt like a sin in itself. The little green Jedi master was the backbone of the order, whether he sat as council head or not. 

“Are you sure, master?” Vos asked, brows pulled together seriously. 

“Yes. Though wish it were otherwise, I do.” Yoda spoke solemnly, nodding his head with grave intent to his words. 

“I just don’t know if I can do this,” Vos returned, a nervous pull stirring in his chest. Obi-wan had been a brother to him when they were padawans. The two of them were sent out of missions often, either under master Tholme or master Qui-gon. When he had heard the news of Kenobi falling to the dark side, it felt like someone had wrapped a vice coil around his heart. 

But now, what he was hearing felt equally distressing. Perhaps even more so. Yoda had all but implied that Qui-gon might have been the one who had fallen, though he never had explicitly said so. He didn’t have to. Because the words couldn’t be spoken, they were dangerous. It was a precarious accusation to be made even behind closed doors. 

Instinctively, Vos agreed with the idea. Perhaps it was his own heart wishing it to be true. Or was it more a matter of wanting Kenobi to be proven innocent? Because if he hadn’t turned to the dark, that meant he was in terrible trouble wherever he was. If he wasn’t dead already. And it wasn’t as if Vos wanted him to be in dire straits either. Though he supposed it could be thought, that whether he had fallen or not, Kenobi was indeed facing dire straits. 

“A… _unique_ task this is, Quinlan. One for you alone. Realize I do, that a personal matter this may be.” Yoda said in a tone of gentle understanding. 

“Obi-wan was like a brother to me, master,” Vos answered, eyes cast low. He could remember all of the times they had bickered like siblings, over the smallest of things. Equally, Obi-wan had come to his aid, even saved his life on occasion as Vos had helped him as well. All of it made him feel as though Obi-wan couldn’t have fallen to the dark. Aside from their youthful spats, Kenobi had always been a very kind and gentle soul. There wasn’t a mean bone in the man’s body. 

Though with Qui-gon he had significantly fewer, and less vivid memories. Vos remembered when the three of them would go on missions together, Jinn would always stay close by if he could. He seemed like a man of few words.

That wasn’t to say he was a man of little expression. Jinn and Kenobi were constantly exchanging looks, as if they had their very own silent language. The content of their private unspoken dialogue always seemed tense. Vos at the time, had attributed it to Obi-wan’s unsure demeanor. He was always looking for validation, always lacking in confidence. He had assumed Jinns sternness was just that, a strictness to balance out the soft hearted, too fragile padawan. Something deemed necessary to make Obi-wan a better Jedi. Looking back on past memories through a new lens however, made Vos feel sick to his stomach. 

All of these years he had let the observation go by the wayside. What if even then, it was a tell tale sign of Jinn’s growing darkness? With a padawan who struggled under the burden of a master who communed with the dark side? 

Vos had to mentally remind himself to slow down. He was jumping to conclusions, his dangerous deceptive heart getting the better of him already. 

“Yes, personal to you, this matter is. Feel I do, the conflict inside of you, Quinlan. Your feelings about the matter, divided they are. Perhaps some insight, you already possess?” Yoda asked, brows raising adding even more wrinkles to his leathered face. 

“It’s nothing of value, master Yoda. Just small things over the years. Jinn always seemed distant with Obi-wan, overly critical. It’s not much to go on.” Vos said, a shame gripping at his heart, one that told him he should have said something sooner. But how could he have known? He shook his head. There was nothing that he really knew, yet. Anything that there was to find, he would see it uncovered. 

“Useful observations are. Discredit them, you should not.” Yoda said, nodding his head wisely. 

“I just don’t want to start jumping to conclusions, is all,” Vos added, almost in a chastising tone. He had spent his life warring with his heart and emotions. To let them grow out of control, when he already felt them slipping, was a dangerous thing to do. Especially if he was to determine the innocence or damning guilt of another. 

“Trust you, I do, Quinlan. Observations and conclusions, different they are. Trust your feelings you should, but mindful of the force you must be.” Yoda said in equal parts reassurance and warning. 

The admonition left Vos feeling even worse than before. “I will try, master,” he faltered in his speech, after receiving a look from the small green master. “I mean, I _will,_ ” he added with reverence. 

“I have faith in you, young one,” Yoda said with a small smile. Quinlan gave a small fleeing grin and a nod in response. Yoda could call anyone in the temple young one, and comparatively it would be accurate. It seemed to be one thing Yoda enjoyed in his old age. 

“Thank you master.” Vos spoke genuinely. 

“Discreet you must be. Careful, cautious. Stealth, your ally is.” Yoda warned in closing. 

“I understand, master.” But he didn’t. He didn’t want to be the one chosen for this mission, didn’t like the secrecy that surrounded it. He felt as if he were swimming in deep waters, in the midst of things bigger than he wanted to uncover. But whatever there was to find, he would find it. Whether he liked it or not. 

“When something to report you have, contact me. Meet in person, we will.” Yoda said, placing his hands on his folded knees. 

“Yes, master.” Vos answered, stomach uneasy in thought of what lie before him. Slowly he rose up from the meditation pad he sat atop, taking his leave without another word to be said. Yoda had trusted him with this mission, and he would see it be done. 

…….

Without a moment to waste, Vos headed to the apartment wing. He didn’t have to ask which dwelling was Jinn and Obi-wan’s, since Kenobi’s presence was felt loudly down the hall, into one specific dwelling. Without any notice or knocking, he entered. 

Although Jedi held no attachments, Obi-wan would have no doubt imprinted himself onto some of the things in their apartment. It was something that happened over time when one spent a significant amount of time in a place. What would have been the most telling, was to find the man’s lightsaber. But that had long since vanished, along with the Jedi in question. 

Though he did notice a strange feel in the air of the place, something like a faint scent. He would have hardly even noticed it, had he not been there with such specific intent. It was a cold, hollow feeling. A void where there should have been the unending light from the nexus the temple perched atop. 

Yoda had spoken of how Obi-wan had come to him the night of Anakin’s kidnapping. How he had looked fearful, terrified even. There was a certain amount of dread in this place, raw anticipation of something bad, wicked. Even the small traces he felt sent a shiver down his spine. At the heart of the energy that emanated in the space, waning from so many weeks without his presence, Obi-wan’s signature could be felt at the center.

Vos slowly meandered through the vacant apartment, finding himself in Anakin’s room first. There was the rippled scar of metal where Obi-wan had carved his saber into the wall. Vos ran his fingertips over the ridged durasteel, reading it as best he could. 

What he saw came to him in flashes, but it struck true to Qui-gon’s report to the council. He saw Kenobi, hastily dragging his saber through the thick metal. He saw young Anakin being taken up in arms, the two of them jumping to the streams of traffic below. Qui-gon nearly only a second too late. 

Here, just like in the main space, was that sense of fear. Somehow it was slightly changed, mingled with a sense of accomplishment. A trace of protective nature woven in with it, a paternal instinct. No hatred or malice. No ill will. Not like Qui-gon had reported. 

Next he ventured over to Obi-wan’s empty room. Although the place was more vacant than ideal since Obi-wan had been missing for some time now, the feel of his presence was still there even if only slightly. It was enough.

There was the familiar sense of kindness, the gentle spirit that the man had. But it was undercut with fear, terror. There was violence, something terrible. It felt louder as he neared the fresher. Dread, surprise, disbelief, the feel of hope being wrenched away. Despair. 

As he entered into the fresher and the auto lights flickered to life, he immediately noticed a crack in the tiled shower, pieces of it missing. The fine lines formed a shatter web from the epicenter of the impact. 

Quinlan hovered his hand only inches away from the surface, feeling himself hold reservation. He didn’t want to know, he didn’t want to see. But he had to. With a breath, he pressed his hand against the cracks on the wall, immediately he recoiled. 

In a vivid flash he could see the terrible image. Obi-wan being thrown with force, so much that his naked body caused this much damage. The source of the blow was unclear, as if whoever else here had wiped themselves clean of everything. It was like tracking a ghost. 

But there was no ghost. In that moment, Vos came to an uncanny realization. He could feel Obi-wan in this place. Even young Anakin he could feel, traces here and there. But Qui-gon was nowhere to be found. Not a hint of the man anywhere. Where he might have been there was something else, dark. A void. Something unseen, unfelt, untraceable. All that he could see, was the spaces where something should have been, but nothing _was._

Was Qui-gon trying to cover his tracks? It was certainly starting to look that way. Though why he hadn’t bothered to mask Obi-wan’s residue as well seemed strange, sloppy. 

Quinlan’s heart took on a bout of guilt as he thought of Jinn hurting that poor soul. His heart was telling him without a doubt, that Qui-gon had been the one to throw Obi-wan like that. If only he had spoken up sooner, about their silent messages, the ones that always seemed out of place. But how was he to know? He couldn’t have known. 

Regardless, even if Qui-gon had been abusing Obi-wan in some way, that didn’t mean he was of the dark side. It could have ment he pushed his former padawan to turn by maltreatment though. It most certainly meant he wasn’t in any sorts to take on another padawan. The most frustrating thing about all of this, was the absence of proof. 

Nothing he felt told of a fall to the darkside, though he felt plenty of what might have been amiss. He could certainly tell Jinn was holding back from telling all to the council. That much was obvious. All the same, he needed to find something more substantial. The only thing that would serve him, would be to find Obi-wan. Indeed, Yoda had clarified that it was the only thing that would truly matter. Without Obi-wan, everything was just hearsay. Council decisions had to be made with clear facts, tangible proof. 

So that’s what he would find. 

…….

Obi-wan woke up with an odd feeling. It was a lightness in his limbs, something fluttering in his heart. It wasn’t often that he felt this way. In fact, he wasn’t sure he had ever remembered feeling quite like this. 

His heart was alive with joy and warmth, still feeling the effects of what his master had done to him the night before. Obi-wan had never experienced such a thing in his entire life. Being held so tenderly, kissed so sweetly. Never had Qui-gon ever been so gentle with him. It made his tattered heart hopeful. 

Because as much as he had dreaded his master more often than not, Qui-gon had chosen to take him as his padawan. It hadn’t been pleasant, mostly it had been rather painful and arduous, pleasing his master. And indeed, he always did please him. It was just that sometimes, more often than he liked, it meant enduring things he hated. It meant being treated in ways that made him feel disgusted with his own skin. 

Though if it could be like this, too, Obi-wan thought he might stay with his master forever. Because last night, in those moments they had shared, he had felt more wanted and loved than he ever had in his entire life. He had tried to be good, wanted to be good. He wanted to please his master. He always did want to, though being good usually didn’t mean such sweet praise, such gentle touches. It meant being quiet when he hurt him, holding still when he was rough, allowing his master to use him as he wanted, even when it was terrible.

But Obi-wan held out hope that their next time would be just as wonderful, his master would be just as kind. Maybe, eventually, if he was good enough, his master would love him, too. Maybe he already did. Though he had never said it, Obi-wan hoped and prayed that he did. Love was a promise that things would be better. If Qui-gon came to love him, maybe he wouldn’t hurt him anymore. 

As he still glowed, Obi-wan reached out feeling if his two companions had awoken. Zaria was still fast asleep, though Qui-gon was indeed awake. From the rustling sounds behind the curtain, he gathered the man was dressing himself. Obi-wan rose to do the same. 

Once the two of them were dressed, Obi-wan headed out into the empty lobby, his master only a few steps behind, delayed by a polite wake up call to the girl in their charge to which Zaria gave back a displeased grunt. 

Obi-wan stood anxiously still as his master stood in the vicinity. There was nothing he could say right now. He was sure Qui-gon wouldn’t have appreciated him to talk about anything right now, other than the mission at hand. The man had always been painfully single minded. 

As if he could hear his thoughts, Qui-gon looked over at him with that empty stare. The look was a blank slate, a mirror for his own tangled emotions to glare back at him. Usually he would be terrified, and maybe he still was. But there was something mixed in with it. Something less than awful. Perhaps even pure and sweet. 

Unable to meet his stare for long, Obi-wan averted his eyes, casting them low to the ground. He could hear his master take steps towards him casually. A hand fell loosely to his braid and he trembled. He could feel his master’s contentment with his response. Just as casually, Qui-gon withdrew as Zaria began to ramble over towards them from down the hall. 

“Good morning,” Zaria said, still stretching out her limbs languidly. Qui-gon smiled and nodded at her curtly. Obi-wan avoided everyone’s stare entirely as his heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest, hoping and praying that she hadn’t heard them the night before. 

“I hope you slept well,” Qui-gon said formally, his words dripping with an undertone of feigned homage in a way that Obi-wan suspected Zaria did not catch. Though she held a pretentious mask for him all the same. She didn’t need to understand the meaning of his cadence to be offended by his presence, such as she seemed to be with nearly everyone and every situation since Obi-wan had met her. 

“Indeed I did, master Jedi. I trust you did as well?” Zaria said with less than thinly veiled disdain towards the man. He could feel her eyes dart over his cowards expression then back on his master. Just as loudly he could feel his master’s amusement with it all. 

She knew. She had to have known, Obi-wan thought as a pit formed in his stomach. What was even worse is that Qui-gon must have known also that she had heard them, or seen them. 

“Certainly,” Qui-gon answered politely still, with one of his empty smiles. “Now let’s get on with it, shall we?” He added cooly, so much that it made even Obi-wan feel dizzy and disoriented. 

Zaria was clearly put off by the man’s subtle yet significant switch in demeanor. This time she glanced over at Obi-wan with a look of concern rather than disgust. All the while, he studied the planks of the floor beneath him, the grain of the wood that composed it.

“Well master Jedi, what’s the plan then?” Zaria said, quickly regaining her confidence, now taking on tones of indignance. 

Obi-wan felt as if he were watching a speeder wreck in slow motion. Had he ever spoken to his master in such a tone, he would have been punished for sure. Not that Zaria had anything to fear from the man, as he was sure Qui-gon was smart enough to know who he could and couldn't take out his aggression on. As usual, any pent up rage that pooled inside of his master would be reserved for him, next time they were alone together. The thought of it made his palms sweat, as he glanced angirly over at the girl who stood with her arms crossed before her chest. She was ruining everything. His master would never be gentle with him if he had to endure this woman. 

“We need to find a transport to break orbit. The plan hasn’t changed.” Qui-gon said matter-of-factly, a thin smile of amusement on his lips. “I’m sure someone around here could point us in the right direction.” 

Obi-wan felt even more sick as he sensed the sick gratification for Zaria’s discontent blooming in his aura. Not only was she raking on his nerves, but he wanted her to be resentful. All he could think of was how his world was turning upside down in an instant. The promise, the hope of his master being kind to him again, slipping away on the horizon of their passive aggressive spat. 

“Yes, of course,” she added dryly, glancing back and forth still between the two men. “Lead the way,” Zaria said, sweeping her arm grandly before her. 

Qui-gon sent both of them a small smile, then went forward to the door of the hostel. He took a moment to sense the surrounding villagers only to find a group of them gathering outside of the small building. Even more, flanking on the sides, surrounding them. How long they had been waiting there was a question neither Jedi could answer, even more of a mystery was why they had not barged in on them while they all slept. 

Had Obi-wan and Zaria had been alone, he would have felt overwhelmed by their situation. But they were not alone. With his master leading the charge, he knew they would make it just fine. It didn’t matter if they had to take on entire armies. Qui-gon was indeed a skilled warrior. Most of the time it terrified him, how lethal and exacting he could be. Now it was a relief, even if only temporary. 

Obi-wan stepped forward towards the door, where Qui-gon remained, hand pressed up against the wood, eyes closed as he reached out. “I feel them, master,” Obi-wan said, also stretching out with his feelings. “We’re surrounded. What do we do?”

“Obi-wan, you stay here. Keep Zaria safe. I’ll deal with the rest of them.” Qui-gon commanded. 

Obi-wan wanted to protest his orders, the idea of going up against all of those armed soldiers frightened him. But to even suggest that Qui-gon was not capable of going up against them alone was not a good idea. Besides, Obi-wan didn’t doubt his master’s ability. It was his own fears that made the prospect so daunting. 

Aside from the his own fears of fighting, the idea of cowering inside while his master fought off all of the guard made him feel rather useless. He wanted to insist, to fight beside the man. Partially he wanted to prove himself. Not only to his master, but to himself. To Zaria too, so she might not look at him as so weak and pathetic. 

But contesting an order was out of question. He didn’t hate himself so much to be punished for that later, too. Obediently, Obi-wan bowed his head in acquiescence then turned to Zaria. “Come on,” Obi-wan said in her direction, not meeting with her gaze. 

With a severe look of disapproval, she followed him to huddle behind the reception desk. As soon as they hid from sight, Qui-gon slipped out the door, locking it behind himself as he left. Sounds of deflected blaster bolts and falling bodies could be heard already. Screams and cries of the townsfolk running about sounded further away, perhaps down the street. Obi-wan tried to tune into what he was hearing, attempting to put together a picture of the happenings outside. Of course that was before Zaria cut through the silence between them, displeased as ever. 

“Are you always so obedient and compliant?” Zaria said cuttingly, a look of disgust on her face as the words she spoke clearly held a double meaning. One that Obi-wan reflexively ignored. 

“He’s my master. I’m just the padawan. When he’s here, he’s in charge.” Obi-wan explained with no apology. 

Zaria crossed her arms, sitting slouched against the desk. “I see,” she said staring forward at the empty wall. Her voice was filled with just as much distaste as it had been before. 

More blaster fire, more bodies dropping to the ground with a sick thud as Qui-gon continued to cut through the soldiers outside with ease. Obi-wan shuddered, feeling his master’s whimsical enthusiasm. He _enjoyed_ taking lives. It was never something he would admit to, as it was very much against the code to feel that way. But Obi-wan could feel him loudly through the force, a cold darkness settling in the air around him, coiling tendrils around himself as well, spreading like a poison through their strained bond. 

In the silence punctuated with screams and blaster fire, Zaria interjected again. This time, anger boiling to the surface of her not so calmly kept demeanor. “If you think you have me fooled, you should think again.” She said, brimming with frustration. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Obi-wan said, face twisted with confusion. In his heart he understood what she spoke of. He wished she would just forget all about it. He cursed himself for not being stronger, if he were more skilled in the force maybe he could make her forget. 

“Like _hell_ you don’t,” she spat, looking at him fiercely in his eyes, not letting him turn away from her. 

“What’s your point, hm?” Obi-wan said in anger, suddenly feeling furious. 

“My point is that he hurts you, and you just _let_ him. I’m not a fool. The nightmares, the way you cower under his stare,” Zaria said wrathfully, coming completely unhinged. 

Obi-wan’s heart shredded in desperate anger. “You have no idea what youre talking about,” he said low, nearly a growl. His chest began to fill with anxiety, so much that he began to drown in it entirely. She didn’t know, how could she? In her world everything was so simple. Obi-wan knew better. _Nothing_ was ever simple. 

Though she had only just started. “He shows up here, and you just, just spread your legs for him. I’m not stupid, I _know_ what he did to you last night.” This time her words were filled with a degree of hurt that she attempted to mask with her ever prevalent anger. 

So she had heard. Obi-wan knew it, really. If he was being honest with himself. There were things that even willful ignorance couldn’t make better. “What he _did to me?_ ” Obi-wan let out a laugh laced with distress and debilitating fear. Though he hid it well with his own anger, far better than Zaria hid behind hers. 

“You’re _Jealous!_ That’s what this is. I _told_ you there was someone else. So this is what happens when the princess gets turned down, she throws a tantrum. I can’t believe this,” he said incredulously. “It’s time for you to grow _up._ ” He ground out harshly. 

Zaria looked as if she had been slapped in the face. _Good,_ Obi-wan thought. _Whatever it takes to shut her up._ As he found himself thoroughly ready to be rid of her. 

A few tears dotted the edges of her lashes that she quickly wiped away. Were they out of anger, frustration, or sadness? He couldn’t quite tell. Perhaps all of those things, or none. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Perhaps even a shade of regret in her voice. “Please understand that i’m only worried about you. I’m not good with making friends, or keeping them for that matter. To be honest,” Zaria said, even more tears welling in her eyes. “You’re the closest thing I have to a friend.”

Obi-wan felt as if he had been punched in the gut, through there was an ironic quality to her admission. He didn’t find it hard to believe she had a difficult time getting along with others. Her attitude after all, left much to be desired most of the time. But he couldn't find it in himself to come back with any witty or cutting retort, though there were many just on the end of his tongue. 

No one had ever told him such a thing. To be cared for, to have a friend, Obi-wan had been lacking in those aspects for much of his life as well. He couldn’t think of a single other padawan in the temple who he might confide in. Certainly no one knew nearly as much as Zaria did about him, and they had barely even been acquainted for more than a few weeks. 

“I just don’t want him to hurt you,” she added in the teary silence, as Obi-wan also began to feel his eyes well with tears that he fought successfully against, though it made his jewel blue eyes gloss over beautifully. 

Obi-wan took a shaky breath, stilling the confusing emotions that warred inside of his chest. “I… I love him,” he said, meaning every word. 

“Does he love you?” Zaria asked, just as concerned. All vehemence and anger bled out of her voice. 

The question felt like a knife, flaying his heart from his very soul. He didn’t know the answer. All he knew was the new hope he had been given, that someday he might. Maybe he already did, maybe not. But Obi-wan felt like he needed him all the same, like he would be lost without him. In the emotional haze that skewed memory of all previous encounters, all his heart could feel, all his mind could see, was how wonderful their last time together had been. That maybe it could always been like that, if only he could be good enough.

Before he had time to answer, Qui-gon skewered the lock through with his saber, kicking the door open and slamming it behind, pressing up against it. “Hurry, we haven’t much time. We need to get out of here fast.” he called out, voice caring a certain amount of urgency, not the typical collected demeanor he usually held. It made Obi-wan feel anxious. “Quickly, I’ll take point and you follow behind. Be sure nothing befalls our young lady here,” he said in haste as the two others convened at the door with him. 

Zaria didn’t even have time to protest or give Qui-gon any more grief before he wrenched the door open again, and dashed behind the small building, hiding in the brush of the forest’s edge where it encroached on the edge of the small village. Obi-wan and Zaria followed suit without delay. 

“Wha-” Zaria began to murmur, being promptly cut off by Qui-gon. 

“Shh, patience,” he commanded. “Just wait.”

Obi-wan could sense it, another wave of troops heading their way. This time they were not the unarmored citizens guard, these were real soilders clad in metal plated armor. One bolt each might not be enough to take them all down, and Obi-wan could feel enough of them, that even Qui-gon didn’t dare take them all on alone. Besides, as much as he liked killing, he was goal oriented, with a mind for strategy. 

A company of troops headed around back, all brandishing blasters aimed out at chest level, sweeping over the back of the hostel. “All clear here,” one grumbled into a comlink. 

Then, there was a rustling in the forest adjacent to them. Obi-wan felt it was his master’s doing, creating a distraction. 

Just as they had been drawn far enough away, he cried out quietly, but just loud enough for the last trooper in line to hear him. “ _Help me,_ ” Qui-gon said, in his best frail voice. It truly was quite convincing. 

The last soldier turned on his heel, looking back towards them, sweeping over the brush. “Who's there?” he barked out. “Show yourself.”

“ _I’m injured. Please, help._ ” Qui-gon said, reaching a hand out of the brush and waving him over. Still the rest of the company continued on without him, leading off further and further away. 

Just when the trooper was a few feet away, Qui-gon wrapped around the man with force, pulling him down, pinning him to the forest floor without laying a hand on the man while he knelt over him. The trooper tried in vain to scream and yell, since Qui-gon had silenced him effectively, stilling his vocal chords just as well as his limbs. 

Zaria gawked over at his master, disbelieving, while Obi-wan’s stomach wrenched, thinking of all the times his master had held him that way, too. He quickly shook the thought out of mind just as easily as it had entered. He had to stay objective. 

Qui-gon knelt down low to meet the man’s face. “You’ve seen the Jedi and the girl you are looking for, run the opposite way across town. You saw them escape through the forest. If you’re quick, you might catch up to them. You will gather all the men and follow after them on foot. You will forget this meeting.” 

Just as he had finished commanding, Qui-gon released him, as the man recanted emptily all that he had set him out to do. Soon after the soldier wandered out of the wood in a daze before shaking his head, coming to. Faithfully, he followed Qui-gon’s orders exactly as they had been given. 

When all of the men had marched out of sight, Qui-gon rose, and Obi-wan along with Zaria followed his lead. The three of them stayed silent as they trekked just inside of the forest line, around the opposite way that the soldiers had gone. As they had all left on foot to trek through the brush, they had left several speeder bikes behind, all parked a few meters from the hostel. 

“Each of you, grab a speeder bike and follow my lead,” Qui-gon ordered, examining the periphery of their target. Obi-wan and Zaria stayed silent, though nodded in acknowledgement of the plan. 

Qui-gon moved first, and the other two behind him as they each mounted a bike stealthily, kicking them on and darting quickly down the main street through the village. It was a short jaunt to the edge of town, where the road took them back through the forest and onto the next village. 

There had been a few onlookers, but no soldiers or armed civilians. All of them had either been slaughtered or distracted. Though it would only be so long until more goons with weapons found them again. If they were lucky, they would be able to find a transport before then. 

But Obi-wan hadn’t been feeling so lucky. Certainly not when the three of them caught a tail of two other troopers, clad in dense armor. The speeder bikes they rode were significantly faster than their own. Quickly, they would be outrun if they didn’t do something fast. 

“Zaria go on ahead as fast as you can!” Qui-gon shouted over the whirring of the engines. “Obi-wan, break hard with me on my signal. Be ready to take the one on the left. I’ll take the one on the right!”

Obi-wan nodded as the two of them formed a triangle, Zaria at the crest, ready to accelerate quickly as the two Jedi moved into their positions. Qui-gon looked over to his padawan, saber in hand. “Now!”

The two of them braked hard, Obi-wan veering off path slightly as he fought against the tailspin motion created by the sudden change in momentum. Qui-gon had anticipated all, expertly breaking and cutting the one rider in half at the waist. Obi-wan was now advancing on his target, weaving in and out to avoid being knocked wrong by the tail end of the other vehicle. 

He nudged his nose forward, bumping the bike in front of him. With a touch of force, Obi-wan moved the bike off the path, into the way of a broad tree trunk that swallowed up both rider and bike in a fiery plume of smoke and ash, and twisted metal. 

Obi-wan hardly had time to marvel at his feat, as three more bikes rode up on them. He looked over towards his master frantically, for direction or guidance. “Catch up to Zaria, I sense she may be in trouble. I’ll take care of these.” Qui-gon said loudly. Obi-wan again, wanted to protest, but he didn’t. It was useless, especially in such a dire moment as this. Any dissent would only divide them on their goal. They couldn’t afford to be at such a disadvantage. It was already the three of them against the entire planet. 

Though Obi-wan couldn’t help but let the fear show in his eyes. Things were moving so fast. But the things that his master was capable of never ceased to amaze him. It frightened him all at the same time. 

With that, Qui-gon departed, braking hard again, with one swift cutting motion he fell one of the riders, taking out another with the debris. Obi-wan could sense even more soldiers coming up on their tail. He didn’t waste time, didn’t look back, as he sped onwards, bolstering his speed with the force to catch up to Zaria. He could only hope she hadn’t found trouble yet. 

Of course, he was never so lucky. Up ahead, he could see her tangled up on the forest floor, thrown from her speeder bike that had been blasted, as more troops approached their location from the other end of the road on foot, the other village just within his sight. They were so close, yet so far. 

But still, Obi-wan was more than capable. He could handle this situation, or so he told himself. What an excellent chance to prove himself to his master, to Zaria too. He wasn’t just a weakling, someone who was used. He was a padawan, on his way to knighthood. This was Jedi business after all. And he was indeed, a Jedi, regardless of rank or status. 

Obi-wan raced to where Zaria lie, her body bruised from the crash, though all else was still intact. He quickly dismounted his own bike and threw it towards the advancing troops. Luckily, it was large enough to knock three of them unconscious, and the other few off of their feet. 

Zaria struggled against gravity, trying to stand but collapsed promptly. “Just stay down, i’ll handle this,” Obi-wan called out over his shoulder. “You’re in no condition to put up a fight.”

Usually Zaria would have had some cunning remark, though she fell silent instead. She lie there as still as she could, pressing her body to the forest floor as if it would help her hide, or avoid stray bolts that might fly by. 

Although he was worried about her, the lack of protest at his handling things gave him a small boost of confidence. The other four troops advanced on them, their blasters raised and leveled, but not firing as they marched in closer. 

“It’s over Jedi, lower your weapon.” One of the men barked. 

“I dont’ think so,” Obi-wan countered, raising one brow. “I won’t allow you to capture us. Turn back or die.” He said in a cold even tone. It made his heart flutter with excitement. It would have been something heard from the lips of his master. The severe man who cut down all who stood in his way. But here, it was just him. He was the one making threats, none of them empty. It was a strange feeling. 

But the troopers didn’t falter, even for a moment. “Not going to happen. Lower your weapon or we’ll shoot,” the trooper said in the same barking voice. 

Obi-wan held his saber out before him, ready to deflect the incoming barrage of bolts. “Have it your way then,” the armored figure said, motioning to his men to start shooting. Without a moment’s delay, they did as directed. 

The first sweep of his saber deflected all but one blaster bolt back at the tropper who seemed to be in command. It was enough to knock him off of his feet, though he wasn’t dead. Not yet. The other three kept on advancing, tightening up the line till they were shoulder to shoulder. 

Most of the hits were deflected away from the soldiers, though a few managed to bounce back at them. Obi-wan had something else in mind, and had wanted to keep at least one of them alive. They would be most useful if he could manage it. 

Two down, two still heading for him. Now the distance had been closed, giving him very little room for error in his deflections. A pair of bolts were expertly angled from Obi-wan’s saber, into the eyes of one trooper’s helmet, effectively killing the man. The last soldier kept on firing his blaster, till he ran out of bolts. Obi-wan had patiently waited for him to expend himself to employ his plan. 

Zaria still huddled down in the undergrowth behind him, perhaps more injured than he first thought. He thought he might have sensed some internal bleeding, though his healing skills were not nearly so developed to be able to say for sure. 

The soldier before him stood nervously, dropping his blaster and raising his arms up in attempt to surrender as he looked around, not seeing another ally in sight. Obi-wan smiled triumphantly. 

“Where is the nearest off-world transport?” Obi-wan asked with a touch of force. 

“The nearest transport is in the village over there,” the man pointed behind himself, to the township just ahead. 

“You will take us there.” It was a lucky thing the people of this world were so suggestable. Unusually so, Obi-wan thought. It did certainly make things easier. 

“I can take you there,” the man said, almost as if it were his idea. 

“Excellent.” Obi-wan said, entirely smug and proud. He turned to look a Zaria, and his heart dropped. He hadn’t ever seen her in such a state. Her skin looked ashen, her breathing was shallow. 

“Zaria,” Obi-wan gasped, rushing down to take her up in his arms. “Are you alright?” He asked, knowing it was a foolish question. Her life force felt strong, but she was hurt, badly. Much worse than he had anticipated. 

“Something’s wrong,” she said faintly, clutching at her side, wincing as he lifted her. She felt cold to the touch. Her body was going into shock. She needed medical attention, now. But Obi-wan was barely versed in the healing arts. Were he to try anything, it was very possible he could do more harm than good. He could only hope whatever transport they would end up on, that they might have a good med bay. 

By the time Obi-wan began to follow after the entranced soldier with the girl in his arms, Qui-gon was catching up to them, speeder bike intact. _Thank the force,_ Obi-wan thought, feeling odd for it only seconds later. It was a rare occasion the man was a welcome sight, one without apprehensive pretext. Now, he only wanted him to help save Zaria. He could care less about what would be in store for him later, tho he kept hopeful about that as well. 

As Qui-gon took stride beside them, leaving the speeder bike behind. He understood without an extra word, the situation at hand. He have a small nod of approval, though without any smile to accompany it. Still, it was enough to make Obi-wan feel proud of his actions. Still, all of it took a back burner to his immediate concern, which was Zaria. 

Qui-gon placed a hand over her abdomen, sending some healing light into her broken form. It wasn’t much, but it would help stabilize her until they were able to get her to higher care. Obi-wan was silently thankful, as he was surprised to feel himself so attached to the girl. He had barely known her for a handful of days, she had annoyed him the entire time, moments of her company being absolutely insufferable. 

But she cared for him, called him her friend. He couldn’t help but feel the same. It was odd, no one knew him better than she did. His whole life living in the Jedi temple, surrounded by the ones who were supposed to be his brothers and sisters. A world of secrets and things he could never say kept him from ever truly feeling close to any of them. Even Quinlan Vos, the padawan he had spent more time with than any other, he barely knew him. The content of their time consisted of squabbles and jokes between missions and lessons. 

But Zaria had seen through him in an instant, no matter how he tried to keep her at bay. She was irritating and irksome, but strong and confident. She was all of the things he didn’t possess. To a certain extent, he admired her for it. In the beginning, he had hated her for it. But now he didn’t hate her, not at all. 

The Soldier led them one block into town, to a small transport. It was a light freighter, some old bulky corellian type. But Obi-wan wasn’t about to complain. He could tell Qui-gon was also not in the mood to be picky about their mode of transportation. 

“Here you are,” the man said, ushering them aboard while a few townsfolk pointed and gawked. 

“You will go to the closest tavern and get a drink. You will forget all about this.” Obi-wan said as he ushered Zaria up the ramp of the small freighter. Qui-gon looked back between the soldier and his padawan as the two departed, no telling look on his face. 

As soon as his feet reached the deck, Qui-gon was rushing to the pilots chair, cycling through the lift off sequences as fast as possible. He peered out of the viewport, wary for more soldiers to arrive. All the while Obi-wan was fastening Zaria to the med bay sleeper cot, engaging the auto doc. 

The holo projection concluded she was stable enough, though without proper treatment she wouldn’t fare well. She only had a few hours before the internal bleeding would become critical. But they were will within distance to reach asylum before then. Maybe not Coruscant, but some place safe all the same. 

“We’ll be someplace with a hospital soon, I promise.” Obi-wan said, clasping his hand carefully around her graying fingers. 

She didn’t say anything, but looked up at him through hollow eyes, one bloodshot from the fall. She looked like death. “I’ve got to go help get the ship up into orbit. As soon as we break atmosphere we’ll be able to get the word out to send for reinforcements.” Obi-wan said, meaning to be reassuring. It didn’t seem to help much. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, giving her hand a light squeeze before he stole up the ladder, onto the bridge that was only one short hallway away. 

Qui-gon was at the dials and switches studiously, priming engines and booting up computers, trying to get the hyperdrive online. “What do you need me to do?” Obi-wan asked on his feet, needing to do something, anything to help get Zaria help. 

The ship began to rock beneath his feet as it took flight, rising up from the small township below them, that grew more and more distant as the seconds drew out. “Stay here at the controls, get us out of this system. I’ll go check on your new friend,” Qui-gon said, a tinge of something menacing in his voice. It made Obi-wan shiver. 

“Yes, master,” he said, bowing his head as the man left the helm. Obi-wan rushed over to take control of the ship, hoisting them up into outer orbit as quickly as possible. Only a few minutes later the stars melted away into fine white lines as Obi-wan charted a route to the nearest sector that hailed to the republic. Promptly after that, he prepared a message to be sent to the senate, one explaining the situation on Barran-Fa, petitioning for aid. Now all there was left to do was patch up Zaria. 

It wasn’t long before his master climbed back up onto the small bridge. Obi-wan tried to contain his curiosity without avail. “Is she alright?” He asked as he rose from the pilot’s chair, trying to remain as nonchalant as he knew how. 

“She’ll be just fine,” Qui-gon said, looking at him with that empty stare. Obi-wan shivered again, quickly averting his eyes. “She’s in a healing trance, now.” Qui-gon added, speaking more soft, his eyes going from hollow to fiendish in the span of a heartbeat. 

In that instant, Obi-wan’s mind and body filled with too many conflicting things. It confused him. He could see the look in his master’s eyes. It was the precursor to what came next- things of a more physical nature. 

He couldn’t figure out what the right thing to do was. Whether he should wait for his master to order him, or if he should go to him willingly without a word. He didn’t want to be hurt, so he froze instead. 

Qui-gon walked over to face him, only an inch away, even less. Obi-wan could feel his master’s breath on his face, his body heat over his own. He was terrified, intrigued, lustful, all in the same moment. 

“Get on your knees,” Qui-gon commanded, as he moved to unfasten his leggings, revealing his hardening cock. Obi-wan did as he was told, just like he always did. He opened his mouth readily, taking the man as much as he could muster. Qui-gon drew a fist through his hair, shoving himself down his throat harshly, fucking him quickly. Small grunts and gasps let him know he was doing well. Obi-wan tried to take solace in it, as he wanted to please him. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, taking him like this. So many times it was so much worse. Though this was rare. 

Usually his master would wait till night to come to him. He liked the contact, things more physically involved. Qui-gon wanted to feel a body beneath his own, taking him, pleasuring him. But in times where he had become particularly stressed, it wasn’t uncommon for him to use him like this. Whether in a bathroom in the market, or in the dark corner of an alley in some backwater place. When the two of them went on missions, particularly trying ones, his master’s need for him grew. Obi-wan was obligated to comply. 

But as he took him now, feeling his near strangulating girth pump down his throat, only barely giving him enough of a break between thrusts to breathe, Obi-wan felt conflicted. He was pleasing him, and that alone felt so _good._ His cock was swollen and hot, throbbing, constricted in his leggings. He was aching for attention. His master would show him none. 

Instead as Qui-gon neared orgasm, his thrusts shortened as he lodged his cock down his throat so far he couldn’t breathe. His lungs were aching next, begging for air. He began to feel faint, teetering on the edge of awareness, vision growing dark. He could feel his master’s disappointment as his orgasm was ruined. Pulling out of his mouth, Obi-wan began to gasp for air. 

“I’m sorry master,” Obi-wan began as his brief coughing fit had ended, but Qui-gon would hear none of it. 

Taking him by the fist of hair he still held in hand, Qui-gon tossed him forward to the floor. Obi-wan stayed there obediently, tears beading traitorously in his eyes as his master worked down his leggings just enough. Obi-wan arched for him, head bowed between his shoulders in shame. 

With a guttural moan Qui-gon slammed his slicked cock into him, causing the younger man to gasp and clench around him. His master took the same pace he had while fucking his mouth, only now his arms wrapped around his torso, gripping his body, drawing his cock into him viciously. 

Obi-wan wanted to please him, but the sudden entry hurt so badly, tearing him open. Each thrust felt like a knife stabbing him, his master’s arms locking him in place. He stayed silent, his body tensing against the intrusion. 

Because he loved him, he wanted him. He wanted to please him, so Obi-wan told himself he wanted this, that it was alright. That if he took him well enough, next time would be better, gentler. He would kiss him, love him, hold him. Not like this. As his master’s body lorded over his own, spearing into him with animal need. This was something different. But it was Qui-gon, so it was okay. Because he wanted him, no one else. So he would be what he needed.   
Because even though it hurt, he still burned for his touch, ached with need. He didn’t dare reach down to pleasure himself. His master didn’t like it when he did that, not unless he was ordered to. 

So he trembled with pent up tension, mixed with pain and exhaustion as his master began to cry out louder, unrestrained by others in vicinity. Supposedly Zaria was comatose, Obi-wan didn’t dare reach out to see. He figured she must have been. So Qui-gon moaned lavaciously as he fucked him hard and fast, finally spilling deep inside of him on a violent thrust that slammed his face into the durasteel floor hard, leaving the beginnings of a small bruise at his temple. 

Still Obi-wan’s body was alive, in spite of how his master had used him without a thought to his comfort, he wanted him. He wanted him but he was too afraid to ask. 

Qui-gon stayed inside of him, pulsing as he softened. He chuckled darkly in his ear. “You dirty thing,” Qui-gon said, reaching around to cup over his painful erection, rubbing him softly over his leggings. “You want it so badly,” Qui-gon growled low, breath hot on his ear. 

Obi-wan all but begged him, as he now grinded his hips on his masters spent cock still speared inside of him. Now that he was slicked with cum and his master was no longer fully hard, all of the parts that felt painful now only felt sensitive. Wonderfully so. He let out a small whimper as Qui-gon teased the head of his cock, stroking him softly over his clothes. 

“Still you wait for me to allow you pleasure, when you want to touch yourself. So obedient,” Qui-gon commended, slowly pulling his cock in and out of him gently. Obi-wan beamed under the praise. He knew it was true. All he had to do was be good enough, obedient enough. His master would be kind to him if he could earn it. 

Slowly, gently, his master took pace again, this time not violent at all, but a soft rocking as he pressed and withdrew, prodding him on the spot that made the soft touches on his cock feel even better.

The words were in his mind, on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t dare say them, even as Qui-gon worked a hand under his leggings to stroke him. He let out small whimpers and moans instead, working his master’s girth as he did. Grinding on Qui-gon’s shaft just right, both of them feeling the hot, pleasurable, orgasmic sensations welling between their thighs. 

Obi-wan didn’t want to ruin the moment with all of the sappy words and thoughts that came to mind as his master touched him expertly, in all the ways that made him burst with pleasure. He wondered why his master hadn’t shown him this side of himself sooner. It didn’t matter now. 

All that mattered was the way his master made him feel right now, the bright orgasmic pleasure that crested in his body, pulsing in his cock, making his master’s hand wet and warm as he too spilled more seed inside of him. The way their bodies shuddered and pressed against one another, the erotic sounds that came low from their throats, in grunts, sighs and moans. It was all that mattered. All that existed.

After the glow of pleasure had faded, Qui-gon retreated from his padawan. He quickly reached for a small towel from the pocket of his cloak to clean himself off with before he covered himself. In an after thought, he offered the towel to Obi-wan who took it gingerly, cleaning himself up as well as he could. There was the slightest regret as he now felt the wet sticky residue inside of his small clothes. It was also a pleasant reminder of how good it could be, if he could be good enough, as he hoped he could continue to be.

Qui-gon said nothing as he settled down in the pilots chair, though his aura felt more steady and calm. His face even looked nearly serene as he gazed out the view port. Nearly, but not quite. 

“Do you require anything else, master?” Obi-wan asked, face blushing slightly. His entrance was indeed sore from being fucked so roughly before, but the pleasure his master stirred in him after the fact made it alright. He could hurt him, as long as he made him feel loved, too. Whether he loved him or not, Obi-wan was never going to ask. He didn’t want to know the answer. He didn’t want to shatter the illusion. 

“No that will be all for now.” Qui-gon answered back in a level voice, void of any emotion. “Go and rest if you wish. I’ll call you when we’ve arrived, to where ever it is we’re going.”

“Yes, master. Thank you, master.” Obi-wan said, bowing his head politely as he made his way to the bunks. Though he doubted he would be able to rest, even if he tried.


	10. Risk

Obi-wan lie awake on the bunk, not really tired, but somewhat emotionally exhausted. He was still sore in more ways than just one from what his master had done to him, as the bruise on his temple began to ache. He focused his efforts on healing the two injuries, mostly the one on his face. He didn’t want Zaria to wake up and see him with it, as he knew she would never buy any excuse for its existence. She would see right through him, just like she always had. 

It didn’t take long for him to grow bored of lying there. Once he had, he ventured out to the med bay again, sitting on the bench that jutted out from the wall beside the med table. Just as his master had said, she was sound asleep. He could feel the healing tones Qui-gon had employed, thrumming through her small tattered frame. Her ashen skin had taken a few shades in a healthy direction, though not by much.

Obi-wan lingered over her, examining the serene expression that took over her face. Just looking at her brought on a wave of shame that he couldn’t quite explain. It was as if even in her unconscious state, she was judging him. He could hear words, dreaded accusatory words, echo in his mind as if she were talking to him from her induced coma. 

_If he loved you, he wouldn’t hurt you._

Obi-wan swallowed hard against the uneasy feeling that took hold of his chest as the thought resounded in his mind. Pained, he turned his eyes away from her. The only thing he could see in her face were his own misgivings and character flaws.

He had accepted to live like this. Qui-gon had hardly forced him into their arrangement. It had been an offer. A proposal. One Obi-wan had accepted hesitantly, but one he had agreed to all the same. 

_But you were only a child._

Obi-wan curled down on himself, cradling his head in his hands as his core hollowed out. A sickness rose up where there had once been the illusion of happiness from Qui-gon’s gentler treatment. All of it burned and turned to ash under the harsh words of truth. Words perhaps spoken by his higher self, or maybe by another. He didn’t really know, and it didn’t really matter. 

He wished they could be lies. He wanted them so badly to be. The caustic reality tortured his heart as he sat frozen in their grip, wishing he could live another life. Any other life than the one that had been alloted for him. If only he had been a better choice for a padawan, he wouldn't have been reduced to making the deal he had. But all of that was over now, the time for choosing long past. This was his life now, whether he liked it or not. 

As he sat in the midst of his anguish, Obi-wan noticed the ship shifting slightly under his weight. They had entered realspace. That meant they must have arrived somewhere. It didn’t really matter where, so long as they were able to find a medical facility quickly. Besides, it was a much needed and welcome distraction to do something, anything other than be left alone with his own damning thoughts a moment longer. 

Obi-wan rose to his feet and climbed up onto the bridge, where Qui-gon had just began to walk towards him from the pilot’s chair. “You didn’t get much rest,” Qui-gon said disapprovingly as he walked closer, stopping just a few inches shy of contact.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Obi-wan said with shameful downcast eyes.

“No, you sat beside your new friend instead. I wonder, is she healed up any better because of your presence?” Qui-gon bit out, sounding a tad bit jealous. Obi-wan instantly put it out of mind. Surely it was his own desire to assign himself a place of importance in Qui-gon’s heart that had the words sounding such a way. Besides, he could hardly think of anything other than his master’s discontent, which he had been the source of. These sorts of things rarely ended in his favor. 

“I’m sorry if i’ve displeased you, master,” Obi-wan said submissively, feeling the imminence of hands on his body, hurting and punishing, every fiber of him tensing against the imagined assault. 

“No matter,” Qui-gon said, straightening his posture as his tone shifted. It seemed Obi-wan’s apprehension at the perceived upset he may have caused was enough to please him, for now. “We’ve exited hyperspace just out of orbit from Ryloth, we are enroute to land at the nearest hospital.”

“What do you need me to do?” Obi-wan asked, his body slowly coiling out of his protective stance. It was hard to shake off the feel of looming violence that the animal part of his mind told him was imminent, but he did his best to ignore it. 

“Until we arrive? Nothing. Though we should be making landfall very soon.” Qui-gon said, suddenly examining Obi-wan’s face closely, bringing his thumb and forefinger to gently pull down at his chin so he could study the bruising that had begun at his temple. “Actually, sit down here and wait a moment.” Qui-gon ordered, sternly yet calmly. Obi-wan did as he was commanded, just as he most always had done. 

Qui-gon left the helm momentarily, then quickly climbed back up with a small packet of bacta and a bandage. Without a word his master tore open the gel pack and took a small dab of it on his fingers, massaging it gently in small circles at the site of the bruise. Qui-gon had always been meticulous in caring for all of his injuries, especially the ones that he inflicted on him. At times Obi-wan hated it, at other times it felt endearing. Now it made him feel ashamed, as his masters violating hands gently held the bandage to the site, assuring the adhesive took. 

Obi-wan wanted his master to love him so badly. He did love him in some way, didn’t he? If he didn’t, why did he care for him like this? If he didn’t, why would he allow him any pleasure at all? He did love him, he _had_ to. Suddenly the shame that had enveloped his heart turned into an ache, a need for gentle physical contact. A simple embrace, a kiss. But he would never be so bold as to take those things himself. It wasn’t his place to.

As Qui-gon finished applying the bandage, his hand fell gently down Obi-wan’s cheek and jawline, brushing ever so slightly against his skin, but only momentarily. In the next fervid heartbeat, Qui-gon had stood to toss the remnants into the garbage receptacle and turn back to the viewport.

“We’re near to landing in the next few minutes,” Qui-gon said, surveying the brownish red globe as it came closer into view, structures and topography becoming visible as their approach continued. “Hopefully we will have gotten word from the Council as to what our new orders are. I do not wish to linger here long,” he added with contempt. The origins of which, Obi-wan couldn't place, though he didn’t think too long on it. The idea of new orders took the forefront of his mind, as he was still fully dedicated to his original mission. 

“We have to go back and help Zaria take back the palace, master,” Obi-wan insisted, a sudden rush of foolish resolve in his mind. “We can’t just leave her here.”

“We will do as we are ordered, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon said, throwing a stern glance his way before looking back to the landscape. “And you will do as you are _told._ ”

Obi-wan cringed at his masters words, certain he would pay for his defiance later. Though later was not now, and now was all that mattered. Still, his stomach tied in knots, as he cursed himself for his thoughtless comment. 

“Y-yes, master,” Obi-wan stammered, palms becoming damp. “I’m sorry, master. It’s just over the last few weeks, especially the last few days, it feels wrong to have fought so hard for something only to give up.” Obi-wan tried to explain, hoping to earn some understanding. Maybe he would be less cruel if he could level with him. 

“You speculate too much padawan,” Qui-gon said in a teaching voice. Moments like this were rare, where he acted like a typical Jedi master. Where Obi-wan could think of himself as a normal padawan, not the slave he had been fashioned into for his master’s use. “You need to anchor yourself in the moment. Speculation is distraction. Nothing has been decided, yet.”

“I will do better, master.” Obi-wan said, bowing his head, earning a small smirk from Qui-gon. 

“Indeed you shall.” Qui-gon said with a tone of finality, just as the ship began to settle, cycling through the automated landing sequence. “Now come, let’s get your friend the medical attention she needs,” he added dryly, descending down the small ladder into the hall as Obi-wan followed in silence. 

The two of them disengaged the med cot from the anchor in the ship's wall, repulsorlifts engaging as it floated out ahead of them. Zaria looked like something out of a dream or a nightmare, her colorless skin and tangled hair in a disheveled mess around her shoulders as she floated away. If Obi-wan wasn’t able to feel her life force, he might think she had died as she certainly looked it. Their trek might have been a funeral march instead. The entirety of it certainly had an ominous feel. 

Up ahead, Qui-gon stopped to talk with a pair of medics that rushed out to meet with them. Still faithfully manning the lift that carried Zaria’s battered body, he looked around at their surroundings with dismay. 

The building that they had arrived at looked crude at best, brown adobe looking walls all around the single level building that served the inhabitants of Ryloth as a hospital. Obi-wan intrinsically felt unsure, as this looked nothing like the med facilities on Coruscant that he had been acquainted with growing up. It wasn’t as if he had never seen less developed worlds, and the infrastructure of them. 

It was just that he had never relied so much of the medicine of a people who appeared to be sub par to the rest of the republic. If it were only himself that was in need of help, perhaps he wouldn’t have been so critical. But Zaria’s life was at stake. He felt a custodial sense within himself, he would do anything to protect her, to keep her safe. 

It could be reduced down to reflex, as the last several days his entire objective had been to keep her safe. But he knew it was more than that. She was his friend. Arguably, his only friend. Perhaps the only one he ever really had. 

Though it was also against his knowledge and better judgement, and indeed rather biased to evaluate the medical skill of the locals from the appearance of their facility. A Jedi would know better than to think such things. It was another thing in which he fell short, and certainly not an admirable quality in the slightest. 

As Qui-gon had finished briefing the medics that had stopped to talk with him, one dark blue skinned Twi’lek took the repulsor cot from Obi-wan’s slightly reluctant grip with a gentle nod and began carting her away. The other walked back behind the cot, holding a scanner above her body, checking for vital signs and damage. 

Obi-wan started after them but was stopped as his master placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be fine,” he said audibly annoyed, nearly as if he wished it were not so. “Let’s get back to the ship and see if the Council has anything for us.” Qui-gon added, still somewhat disgruntled. 

Without a word, Obi-wan followed Qui-gon back into the ship, the ramp ascending and closing behind them as they walked towards the bridge, stopping at the com center that was located just down the ladder from the helm. Qui-gon keyed a few switches, hailing the Jedi communications center in the temple. With any luck, they would have come to a decision by now. A favorable one, Obi-wan hoped. 

A few seconds after the trill of the com call echoed in the small space, the flicker of holo projections came to life. Masters Yoda and Mace appeared before them. 

“Masters,” Qui-gon began, as Obi-wan stood, eyes low as was his usual demeanor before the Council. “The dutchess Zaria has been safely delivered to a hospital on Ryloth. We await your orders as to how we shall proceed.”

“Ah, yes,” Yoda said sadly, disappointment in his voice. “News we have, though favorable it is not.” The little holo danced as the connection wavered. 

“The Senate has denied to send aid to either faction of the coup, as rightful rulership was deemed unknowable. They have ordered us to withdraw until the matter is settled.” Mace said, also seeming less than happy about the ruling. 

“Welcome Zaria is in Coruscant, as a political refugee.” Yoda added with notes of hope. 

Obi-wan however had already began to tremble in his core. All of the running and hiding, all of the atrocities being committed on helpless citizens. All of it for nothing, as the Senate would just look the other way. And the Council would bend to their political bantering and posturing, ignoring the cries of the innocent. 

“You will either continue on to Coruscant with her, or leave her to go back to Barran-Fa alone. The Senate does not permit us to deliver her back, or to finance it in any way.” Mace said with regret.

“This is outrageous,” Obi-wan began, speaking in a small voice though his heart was filled with turbulence. “We’ve fought so hard,” he said, searching out the eyes of the projected Jedi before him. “They are killing anyone who hails their loyalty to the old king,” Obi-wan’s words grew louder as he was rapt in the memory of all the death he had witnessed, the pile of bodies rotting, blood everywhere. It made him nauseous even now. “We can’t just leave these people to suffer.”

Even as Obi-wan spoke he could feel Qui-gon’s aura compress, coiling around himself, such as it did when he began to grow angry. The ever familiar precursor to the savagery he would inflict. The council members that stood before him would never know it had been the reason Obi-wan had retracted his gaze, immediately regretful.

“I’m sorry masters, please forgive me. It’s been a difficult few days,” Obi-wan recanted, eyes only glancing in Qui-gon’s direction for a moment. 

“The Council understands how difficult this must be,” Mace said with condolence. “You must also understand the decision was not to our liking, either. But it is the way things must be.”

“Yes, of course,” Obi-wan said dejectedly, though even in his regret he was full of repulsion and anger for the decision that had been made. 

“We will get back to you when the Duchess has made up her mind. Though I must say, I don’t foresee her coming with us. The girl is very... _stubborn._ ” Qui-gon said lightheartedly, his words undercut with a tone that only Obi-wan would know as threatening. Perhaps because it was meant for him alone. 

“Unfortunate it would be, if back to Barran-Fa she decides to go. Though hers the choice is to make.” Yoda said wisely, hands perched atop his gimmer stick as he rapt in on the ground once in habit as an emphasis of the remorse in his words. 

“Only time will tell what her decision will be.” Mace said, closing the topic. 

“Yes, we will keep you informed.” Qui-gon said, moving his hand to toggle the com off. 

“May the force be with you,” Mace said in gesture. 

“And with you, masters,” Qui-gon said, Obi-wan nodding in agreeance with the sentiment as the com was deactivated. 

Obi-wan stood still, nearly statuesque as Qui-gon took a deep steadying breath. Obi-wan could tell his master’s patience had been tried, one too many times. 

Before his master could say anything, Obi-wan began to quickly and nervously backpedal on his stubborn resolve to not let the issue rest. “I’m sorry master, I must be more mindful of my words,” Obi-wan said, desperation in his voice. 

Qui-gon remained silent, although his aura was yet again filled with aggravation and tension. Obi-wan held his arms close to his body, his hands gripping tightly at his elbows. It was reflexive, as he didn’t know what he should say, do, or if he might be better off simply saying and doing nothing at all. He decided the latter option best after his plea had been met with no reply other than a familiar glare that made Obi-wan’s breathing shallow and difficult. 

After an uncomfortable silence that felt heavy on Obi-wan’s shoulders, Qui-gon headed back out to the ramp of the ship. Obi-wan’s breathing returned to normal for a moment. At least his master was deciding against doling out punishment for now. Obi-wan was all too eager to forget about it, and move on to their next objective. 

Though since he had not been told to follow along, he stopped in his tracks suddenly, wondering if tagging along was the right thing to do at all. He couldn’t afford another misstep. A few paces ahead of him, Qui-gon stopped and turned, his gray brown hair swaying as he did. His steel blue eyes, commanding as they ever had been. 

“Come, now,” he said quietly, nearly affectionate. Obi-wan couldn’t figure the man out even if he tried. And he certainly had tried. “Let’s see how your friend is faring,” Qui-gon said, studying Obi-wan’s face pensively. 

“Y-yes, master,” Obi-wan said, bowing his head and rushing off behind him. Surely there was something simmering just below the surface of his master’s expression. He could feel it there, something unsaid. Something more likely than not, that Obi-wan had done to upset him. Sooner or later, he would find out just what it was. For now he would anxiously ponder over it, between whatever tasks he might be set out to do.For now he had been tasked with following his master, and he would do just that. 

The two of them trailed down the ramp of the freighter and off into the medical facility towards the wing where Zaria was being held. She had not awaken yet, Obi-wan could feel her dormant state from a few rooms over as he and his master had been stopped by a few of the staff. 

Qui-gon stood talking with them, conversing in their native tongue of Ryl. Obi-wan had yet to finish his lessons in the dialect, though Qui-gon was sufficiently versed, well enough to understand what the doctors were saying. Obi-wan only caught bits and pieces, but not enough to put together any picture of what was happening. 

Once Qui-gon had finished talking with them, he turned to leave, walking back for the ship. Obi-wan’s heart dropped, as he had hoped to visit Zaria, at least see her before they left. Though obviously that wasn’t happening, and he wasn’t about to put up a fight or protest it. He had done enough of that today, and wasn’t about to push his luck. 

So as Qui-gon led up the ramp without a word, Obi-wan followed in kind. He had hoped his master would shed some light as to what Zaria’s condition might have been, but again, was too afraid to ask. Clearly Qui-gon had not taken a liking to the girl, nor had he liked the fact that he and Zaria had become friends during their time together. He wasn’t thinking it to be in his favor to appear more attached than his master had already suspected.

Though it was no surprise that Qui-gon would be able to understand Obi-wan’s feelings, every shade of apprehension and conflict that stirred inside of him. His master could read it all, like print off a page. Obi-wan knew that, too. His master was always inside his head when they were together. Not speaking, but observing. It was like a constant background noise, the feel of his subtle intrusion. 

As the ramp ascended behind them, leaving the two of them in the dimly lit space of the vacant cargo hold. Obi-wan’s master turned towards him, eyes catching in the low light. Obi-wan wore his uncertainty on his face.

“Zaria’s in a bacta tank for the better part of the day. I’ve got some errands to run, things that need doing.” Qui-gon’s eyes darted back and forth as he spoke, as if something was actually making him feel uneasy. Obi-wan thought it impossible for the man to feel such a way, surely his senses were playing tricks on him. 

Obi-wan might have asked what errands or tasks he might need to do on Ryloth of all places, especially since their arrival had been one to their own surprise. Though he didn’t speak a word of question or protest, only obediently nodded his head, the remnants of his questions worn on his face as furrowed brows and hesitant reactions. 

“You’ll stay here with the ship,” Qui-gon said, eyes suddenly boring invasively into his own. “Stay here and take inventory of our hold, though I don’t expect it to be too impressive,” he added, speaking to the barren cargo hold that only carried a few crates, cast off in a corner. “Look around, i’m sure someplace there’s a droid. See what you can do about getting it to perform any repairs that might be necessary.”

Obi-wan nodded, bowing his head. “It will be done, master.”

Qui-gon smiled slightly, one corner of his mouth pulling up into what could only be perceived as an expression of amusement. “Good.”

“Will that be all?” Obi-wan asked politely, cutting through the silence that had grew between them, his master still looking down at him, perhaps entertaining thoughts of what he might do to him later. 

The amused expression melted into one of boredom. “Yes, that will be all. I don’t know how long i’ll be gone,” he said, turning to the ramp as it descended. “So stay out of trouble,” he added with a tinge of warning. 

“Of course, master.” Obi-wan complied, not thinking of causing any undue problems. He always did try to fly under the radar, although he didn’t always succeed in the effort.

Without a second look or another word, Qui-gon left the freighter, leaving Obi-wan alone to his tasks. Immediately he did as he was told, sorting through the inventory and running diagnostics. There had been one droid he was able to find, but unfortunately it had been damaged beyond repair. Beyond his abilities to repair it, anyhow. 

The ship diagnostic report came back mostly favorable, which was indeed a good thing since he knew little of how to fix anything related to ships, either. Mechanics had never been his strong suit. In the moment, he certainly wished they had been. Any tinkering or even trying to fix anything could, and more likely than not would, lead to a worsening of the health of the ship. He wasn’t prepared to explain extra damages to his master, so he left them all alone. Aside from a few shielding issues and a minor glitch in the hyperdrive, it was perfectly functional. 

Only two hours into his tasks he had found himself with nothing left to do. He didn’t feel Qui-gon’s presence anywhere near to the ship, maybe not even in the city. The reason for him leaving was indeed a mystery, but his master had been largely one big unsolved question in many ways for the entirety of their relationship. Obi-wan had been used to not asking questions, though it didn’t stop them from forming in his mind. 

Obi-wan had been reduced to pacing the small corridors of the ship, waiting for something, anything to happen. After night had fallen well over for several hours, Qui-gon had still not returned. At first he thought maybe something had befallen him, though he had said he didn’t know how long he might be gone. And surely, his master could look after himself. 

But the confines of the ship were beginning to feel like a prison, as he paced and tried to waste time. Certainly he couldn’t get into too much trouble if he just walked back into the hospital to inquire about how Zaria was doing. But the possible consequences still made his stomach churn nervously.

An hour of anxious internal deliberation passed and his master had still not returned. Finally, he decided to push his luck just one more time. Palms sweating, he keyed the ramp of the freighter to descend as he strode out to the adobe building before him. He didn’t have to ask anyone directions to where Zaria was, since he had remembered well from the first time he and his master had traversed the halls. 

But even if he hadn’t, he would have felt Zaria’s presence alive and awake, bustling with discontent as usual. He turned the last corner into the small room that she was placed in. Her hair was still soaked from the bacta she had been suspended in for the day, but she looked so much better than before. The sight of her doing so much better made Obi-wan’s chest flood over with relief. 

Upon entering the room, Zaria’s eyes immediately fell to him. A humorous mixture of happiness and distress on her face. He could tell she was glad to see him, but also that there were things she was less than happy about, most likely having to do with being laid up in a hospital bed. 

“Obi-wan!” she exclaimed, eyes bright with surprise. “You’re here!”

“Yes,” he said, grinning at her. “We never left. I’ve just been busy with the ship, my master is off doing something, I don’t know what.” He tried to speak casually but his words leaked with joy at seeing her better. The last time he had laid eyes on her, she had looked like death itself. “You’re feeling better?”

“Yes, and feeling like I need a shower,” she said, upset. 

“Surely they have one around here somewhere?” Obi-wan asked. “I can go and try to find someone to ask about it, if you want.”

“You might as well forget about it. No one listens to me in this place. Believe me i’ve already tried.” She said, crossing her arms over her chest in a pout.

“Ah, well then I don’t know what to say. There’s one on the ship, when you get back there you could take one.”

“Yes, you know, I think we could just leave, now. I need to get back to my people, we need to bring help.” Zaria said insistently, pulling the covers off of herself and rising up from the sleeper. 

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, you were very badly hurt,” Obi-wan said, rushing over to her bedside, only to be swatted away.

“I feel just fine,” she said stubbornly. “Besides every minute we waste more and more people are dying. We’ve got to get back to Barran-Fa.”

“Zaria, there’s something we need to talk about,” Obi-wan said as gently as he could. But already he could see there would be no reasoning with the woman. 

“I suggest less talk, more action,” Zaria said in a huff, moving over to the dresser where her change of clothes had been laundered and folded for her. “Ugh, I don’t have the heart to change into these while i’m so filthy,” she muttered under her breath. 

“Here, take these,” Zaria said, shoving her clean change of clothes into his arms. “I’ll just dress after I shower. Let’s get moving, shall we?”

“Zaria,” Obi-wan said, pleading. “Just hold on a minute,” he begged, placing the clean clothes onto the foot of the sleeper. 

“What are you doing, we don’t have time for this!” She shouted indignantly, eyeing him up and down disconcertedly. 

“We can’t go back,” Obi-wan said bluntly, apology in his eyes. “The senate ruled the uprising out of their jurisdiction, they said that the rightful rulership of the world was undetermined. They won’t send aid until the matter has been settled.”

Zaria took a step back, looking as if he had just slapped her in the face. “What do you mean?” She asked, angry tears welling in her eyes. 

“There’s nothing I can do. The Senate has agreed to take you in as a political refugee, you can plead your case there, garner support. Then you can take your world back.” Obi-wan said, cringing at his words. He already knew there was nothing he could do or say to get her to follow along. Even he didn’t agree with that plan of action. The senate was useless, she would never gain support there.

“You would have me turn my back on my people,” she accused. “My father's death will mean nothing if we don’t avenge him!” Zaria shouted, clenching her fists at her sides. 

“I don’t like it either. I tried to petition your case, even at my own expense,” he said, eyes flitting to the floor as he remembered his master’s look, the promise that he would pay for his insistence. “They wouldn’t listen.”

“Look at you, such an obedient padawan, always doing what you’re told,” Zaria spat critically, eyes narrowed. 

“What would you have me do?” Obi-wan said, exasperated, wrath growing in his chest. He had done nothing but try to help her since they had met. It had only ever earned him contempt. “Just leave with you? Leave Qui-gon stranded here? Because I promise, you, he’s never going to go against the Senate on the word of some spoiled brat!” He shouted, words cutting. 

Zaria deflated for a moment. “I can’t just leave my people there to die, to be ruled under a dictator,” she said sadly. Obi-wan could feel the helplessness rolling off of her, a feeling he had become too acquainted with over the years. 

“I’m sorry, I wish there was more I could do.” Obi-wan said, anger abating. 

“There _is_ more you could do. It’s just that you _won't._ ” Zaria spoke quieter, but her words were somehow even more hurtful than before. 

“You have no idea the trouble I will be in if I were to help you,” Obi-wan said, a shiver trailing down his spine. 

Zaria moved over to the foot of the sleeper, gathering up her clothes in her arms. “Then don’t. I don’t need your help.” She said spitefully, turning the corner of her room and heading for the exit. 

“Where are you going?” Obi-wan said, walking after her in haste. 

She didn’t answer, but kept on silently. Obi-wan trailed after her, heart stopping when he realized where she was going. “Zaria, stop, you can’t,” Obi-wan begged frantically as Zaria headed for the ramp of the freighter that he was supposed to be watching. 

“ _Watch_ me,” she said, daringly as the ramp descended. 

“Stop this,” Obi-wan said, grabbing at her arm firmly, stopping her in her tracks. “Please you have no idea the trouble I will be in. The trouble I’m _already_ in.”

“If we don’t go and save Barran-Fa, people will die. Tell me, what punishment is worse than the deaths of hundreds, thousands of innocents? You said it yourself, you’re already in trouble. Why not help me now, save all those people. I know you want to.” Zaria entreated, breaking free of his grip. 

“It’s not that simple. If we go back, just the two of us, we’ll die.” Obi-wan said in sudden realization. 

“It’s a risk I am willing to take.” Zaria said with finality. “But I can’t expect you to do the same,” she said, bitterness leaving her voice. “I have to go. It’s the only way. And i’ll be taking this ship... so, sorry for that.”

Zaria turned away, keying the ramp to ascend behind her. Obi-wan cursed himself, cursed this stupid girl for all the trouble she had caused him. But what was he to do? Stay and face his master, explain why their ship was gone?

With every part of himself warning against it, he trailed behind her as the ramp closed. “Wait, i’m coming,” Obi-wan said, rushing in behind her. “Do you even know how to fly this thing?” he asked, anxious adrenaline coursing through his veins. Oh, the price he would pay, if they managed to survive. 

“Now that you mention it, I don’t think I do.” She said lightheartedly as they climbed the ladder to the helm. 

Obi-wan cycled through the lift-off sequence, plotting a course to Barran-Fa. Just as they began to take to the air, Obi-wan’s heart plummeted. He could see his master approaching the landing pad, waves of anger, rage, darker things, thrumming through their bond, filling the air around him. 

“You know, I think it will be alright,” Obi-wan said, telling himself as much as Zaria, though he didn’t quite believe it. 

“Hm?” Zaria sounded in question. 

“Live, die, it’s all the same to me. Let’s do this,” he said, releasing the last of his inhibitions. He had already gone too far. There was no turning back now.

Zaria smiled at him, genuine and happy. “Let’s at least, _try_ not to die.”

Obi-wan let out a nervous chuckle. “No promises.”


	11. Fates

Obi-wan’s attention was acutely fixed on his master’s shrinking form as they climbed higher into the atmosphere. A crushing wave of regret slammed violently against his senses as he wished he had chosen to stay instead. The echo of shock filled his body, leaving the tips of his fingers numb. 

Before he even had time to think, he set the hyperdrive to take them back to their last location; Barran-Fa. Just as the gravity of his decision began to take hold in his mind, the stars transformed into fine white lines as the freighter took to barreling through hyperspace. 

Obi-wan stood hunched over the controls helplessly frozen, fixed in place as he stared out through the front viewport. While he could feel a strong sense of cause and certainty emanating from Zaria, he felt the complete opposite take root in his heart. 

“I’m going to go and find that shower now, if you don’t mind,” Zaria said, her frustratingly casual voice ringing in the air. 

Obi-wan didn’t have the energy to respond. There were too many things he wanted to say. Too many things she wouldn’t understand, things she would _never_ understand. 

He had never disobeyed his master like this, not once. Not ever. Sure at times he could be disagreeable, obstinate. He had even fought back against Qui-gon a few times. Those things would earn him enough unplesantries alone. But this? This was a whole new level, something else entirely. 

Zaria trailed off into the recesses of the ship with her freshly laundered clothes bundled up in arms, leaving Obi-wan alone with his sense of dread and doom. It wasn’t that he had never felt those things before, he most certainly had. But the foreboding of what was to come was beyond the ambit of any terrible thing he had ever known. Just the thought of It kept him there in a catatonic stupor until Zaria had come back from the shower. 

As she climbed up onto the bridge, the smell of cheap soap wafted on the air. He half expected her to complain about the toiletries available on the freighter, was near surprised when she hadn’t. 

“You haven’t even moved an inch,” she said critically. “Why don’t you sit down, you look like you’re about to pass _out._ ”

Obi-wan caught a glance of his faint reflection against the transparisteel port. Indeed he looked like a ghost, pale and dark under his bloodshot eyes. Of course he did. Without a word of agreeance or dissent he did as was suggested, collapsing into the pilot’s chair with a heaving sigh. 

Zaria walked around to take the co-pilot’s chair beside him as she toweled off her long, wet, black hair. Obi-wan felt a slow boiling anger grow in his chest, desperate rage that he could only rightfully hold towards himself. She hadn’t forced him to come with her, he couldn’t act as if it were so. She hardly had the force to overpower him. He had tagged along willingly. There had been a proposal, one he agreed to. Reluctantly, but agreed to all the same. 

Obi-wan could feel her eyes on him, her silent questioning gaze that pierced through him. He didn’t want to be looked at, didn’t want to be seen. He wanted to go hide in a dark corner someplace and act like none of this existed. He wanted everything to go away, to wake up from this horrible nightmare. It was a familiar feeling. 

“Hello?” Zaria asked, waving her hand in front of his face. “Is anyone home in there?”

Obi-wan shot her a disgusted glance, then resumed looking frontwards. “Geez, don’t give me that look, I was just _asking._ You don’t look so great.” Zaria spat back defensively. 

“Just don’t _talk_ to me,” Obi-wan muttered, grinding his teeth as he got up from the chair, moving to lean against the hull. He was in no mood for her antics, no mood for her at all, really. 

“What got into you?” Zaria exclaimed as she got up after him, crossing her arms in vexation. 

The anger that had begun to stew grew larger, expanding, filling Obi-wan's entire chest, tightening his throat and burning down his arms as his hands clenched into shaky fists. 

“You’re just going to ignore me now, too?” Zaria said, tone rife with disdain. 

Obi-wan took a shaky breath in an attempt to calm himself down. With every word she spoke he could feel himself closer and closer to the brink of losing self control. It wasn’t something he liked feeling, and certainly not something he had felt often. 

“Why are you being like this?” Zaria asked, voice raking on his last nerve. 

“Why am I being like this?” Obi-wan echoed back cynically as he shifted his gaze to stare menacingly down at her. “Are you really that stupid, or do you just act the part well?” He asked, voice as cutting as a razor's edge. 

“Sorry I asked, you don’t have to start throwing around insults,” Zaria shouted back, brows furrowed in offense. “You forget, I’m not a Jedi, I can’t just read your mind!” 

“You really are just _stupid,_ ” Obi-wan muttered low, nearly apologetic, his face placidly monotone in thinly restrained anger. 

Zaria took a few paces forward standing only a few inches shy of touching, even more anger and hurt in her eyes. “At least I have a _backbone,_ I don’t just spread my legs when i’m told,” she said lower, eyes taunting, words aimed like a knife tearing into his heart. Clearly, he had struck a nerve.

Obi-wan’s eyes turned to ice. She called him her friend, dragged him here to help her even when it meant putting himself on the line. Only at the very earliest convenience to say something so bitter and hurtful, so thoughtlessly. 

“At least I didn’t let my father get _killed._ ” Obi-wan said icily, aimed at inflicting the highest level of pain possible, just as she had. It wasn’t as if he actually blamed her for her father’s death, but he knew she did. That was enough. 

Wrathful tears welled in Zaria’s eyes as she had no more words left to contend with. Obi-wan stared back down at her coldly, glad for his words to sting as much as hers had. In a flash Zaria moved her hand to strike him across his face. Obi-wan caught her wrist a few inches from his face. 

“Don’t you _dare_ strike me,” Obi-wan growled, glaring threateningly into her narrowed eyes, casting her wrist aside. 

“Oh, only your master is allowed to do that, _right?_ ” She added perniciously as her eyes darted between the bandage on his forehead and his stare. 

“When we get to Barran-Fa, you’re on your own. Good _luck._ ” Obi-wan ground out, having lost any energy he might have had to fight anymore. 

“Fine, when I die, let that be on your hands.” Zaria spat as Obi-wan moved to climb down from the bridge. 

“Let it be on your _own_ hands. You’re not my responsibility anymore. You’re the one who pushes away anyone who tries to help you.” Obi-wan said, voice void of any and all emotion.

“You’re the one who starting acting _rude!_ ” Zaria shouted at the top of her lungs. “I just made the mistake of asking what was wrong!”

“You know what’s wrong!” Obi-wan yelled back, no longer caring to restrain himself at all. “You just act blind, play the fool. Just as you have your whole life. But i’m not going to spell it out for you. I don’t have to. You don’t deserve that from me, you’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side since we met. You only care about _yourself._ ” 

“That’s not true, I care about _you,_ you’re my-” 

“I’m what, your _friend?_ I’m only your friend until you don’t get what you want, or something doesn’t go your way. I can’t even sit here in silence without you harassing me!”

“I just wanted to know what was wrong, I don’t know what your problem is!”

“What’s wrong? Do you want me to tell you everything? Where shall I start?” Obi-wan said frantically, core trembling. “Should I tell you what my master is going to do to me once I get back? Or how he only leaves marks where no one will see?”

Zaria recoiled shamefully, a tinge of regret in her eyes. “You said you love him,” she added quieter, hesitantly. 

Obi-wan’s heart wrenched. He did. He loved his master, even when he hurt him. “I do. And you’ll never understand.” 

“You’re right, I don’t,” Zaria said shaking her head. “You’ll just go back to him willingly, even if he’s going to…” Her words trailed off as she began to feel uncomfortable. It was laughable, since Obi-wan didn’t think he had ever seen her possess an ounce of self awareness or shame. 

“He’s going to punish me, for taking off with _you._ For helping _you._ But that’s all well and fine, because it doesn’t concern you. I had already gotten myself in enough trouble for pleading your case to the Council, not that you care about any of that.” Obi-wan said harshly. 

“I’m sorry,” Zaria recanted, “I’m a selfish, short sighted, poorly socialized piece of royal garbage,” she added spitefully. 

“You’ll have to have your own pity party, I’m afraid I don’t have the capacity to feel sorry for you,” Obi-wan said dryly. “Once we land, if you would kindly get off my vessel, i’ll take my leave of your wretched planet along with all of your problems for _good._ ”

“Fine.” Zaria said, wiping away at the few tears that began to pour over.

Content with her response, Obi-wan descended from the bridge. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind, anywhere he wouldn’t have to deal with her a moment longer would suffice. In his anger laced fear he took to interchangeably pacing the small corridor of the ship and walking circles in the cargo hold. 

Mostly he spent the time cursing himself for letting himself get dragged into all of this, while carefully avoiding the thought of what he might have brought upon himself. Maybe if he was remorseful enough he could gain his master’s forgiveness, though it was highly unlikely. He wasn’t going to count on it, but he was going to at least try. At this point it was all he could do. 

Finally, the ship fell out of hyperspace. Obi-wan made his dreaded trek back up to the bridge to begin the landing sequence. Before he could make it all the way back up the ship lurched, throwing him from the ladder that led up to the bridge and onto the floor below. 

As all of his patience had run out quite some time ago, Obi-wan used the force to leap the distance of the ladder, landing up onto the bridge. Before he could chastise Zaria for messing with the controls and trying to get the two of them killed, Obi-wan was struck silent. 

Just beyond the transparisteel viewport, a blue glow could be seen enveloping the space around their ship. Further out was a large freighter with an industrial sized cargo hold and hangar. 

“We’re caught in their tractor beam,” Obi-wan said distantly. “This isn’t good,” he added, his own voice sounding very small and far away to his ears. 

This couldn’t be happening. If Qui-gon were here, he would know what to do. But he wasn’t. He was here, alone. Not alone, _worse_ \- saddled with this ungrateful dutchess who was hell bent on getting herself killed, and him along with her. And now, she might have finally done it. 

“Why are they pulling us in?” Zaria asked, visibly terrified. 

Obi-wan nearly scoffed. She was so ready to charge into battle to rescue her people only a moment ago, but at the first sign of trouble she was petrified, near useless. “Maybe you’re uncle’s put a hit out for our freighter. Maybe they’re just ordinary pirates who don’t know any better. Either way, it’s nothing good.”

“What should we do?” Zaria said quietly, looking even more scared. 

Obi-wan thought for a moment. His first reaction was to give her up, save himself. But he couldn’t do that, not even if she had said those horrible, terrible things to him. It wasn’t the Jedi way, and really it wasn’t what he wanted to do, either. 

He didn’t want her to die, he wanted her to be safe, for her to take back Barran-Fa. What Henrik was doing to the inhabitants of the world was wrong. He had seen with his own eyes, the type of evil that man was. Zaria may have been selfish and tactless, but she wasn’t the one murdering hundreds, possibly thousands of blameless civilians. 

She had only hurt his feelings, which was hardly a murdering offense. Besides, he was a Jedi, he couldn’t allow innocents to be hurt. 

“Obi-wan?” Zaria added fearfully, as their freighter was now fully engulfed within the larger ship. 

Obi-wan went to the controls, puting every hatch and door on lock down. If they were coming in for them, they would have to work for it. 

“What are you doing?” Zaria asked, just as frightened. 

“Giving us some extra time.” Obi-wan answered back as he turned to descend down the ladder. “Come on, let’s ditch these outfits, there are some jumpers in the hangar. Better that way, maybe they won’t recognise us.”

Zaria followed after him silently and did as she was told just as obediently. It was a rare occasion, one Obi-wan gladly welcomed. By the time they had changed into the gray mechanic fatigues and discarded their old clothes their captors had begun sawing into the metal hull of the ship. The sound of it was horrible, screeching and ringing, resounding in the small space as the ship was cut open like a tin can. 

Obi-wan and Zaria waited, hiding in the cargo bay. Unfortunately there were no weapons on the ship when they had found it, otherwise they might have been aiming blaster muzzles in the faces of the intruders upon entry. Instead, they chose to hide, pleading the alibi of scrappers who had found the freighter stranded. 

That meant Obi-wan was going to have to keep his saber concealed for the time being. It didn’t make him feel comfortable, but keeping their identities hidden was paramount if they were to escape this place. 

Zaria had tied her hair up on top of her head in a messy bun, the both of them smearing grease over their faces and hands, to make for a convincing presentation. By the time the intruders had found a way into the freighter, the two of them were cowering in the closet of the cargo hold, where he had found the rubbish droid earlier that day. 

Only now that seemed like an eternity ago, his master taking leave, giving him a short list of tasks to occupy his time. Even longer when the three of them had woken up in the hostel that morning. So much could change in the span of a day. 

“Search every corner of the ship, I want them found.” A voice barked out, a woman's voice though not at all feminine. 

“You got it, boss,” a rougher voice answered back. An accented voice, weequay if Obi-wan was placing it right. He stifled the urge to grumble. _Pirates,_ he thought, _lovely._ Although it did open up opportunities. If they couldn’t be fooled as to their identities, they could be sold to the highest bidder. The Jedi Council of course, being the winner of all bids. Or perhaps not, but he could at least make them believe as much. 

In the small confines of the closet that pressed Zaria up against Obi-wan, he could feel her trembling as the sound of boots fell close. Obi-wan was long past feeling sorry or overly empathetic towards her, but he couldn't help but feel the urge to tell her it was all going to be alright. Though of course to not give away their hiding spot, he remained silent. 

“I can’t wait to see the look on their smug little faces,” another voice sounded out, only a few feet away from the closet door. 

“If you want to get paid, you’ll make sure to keep them alive,” the woman’s voice called out, no one daring to speak against her. 

A few sets of footsteps trailed up into the main hall leading to the bridge while another began throwing lockers open, one by one, dangerously close to the closet where they were hiding. While Obi-wan knew it was only a matter of time before they were found, the horrid anticipation of it made his heart race and his palms sweat. 

Just as the last locker had been thrown open there was a pause. None of the intruders movements could be heard, but Obi-wan could sense two beings standing just outside of the closet they were hiding in. His body tensed in wait, as any second the door would be flung open at any moment and they would be dragged out. 

Just as anticipated, their cover was pulled away as rough hands reached into the closet pulling both Obi-wan and Zaria out by the arm. “Here you are. Thought you could hide from us, eh?” One Weequay grumbled, narrowing his dark eyes at them. 

“Please don’t hurt us,” Zaria cried out in overture, perhaps mostly an act. Obi-wan hadn’t been sure. 

The two of them were thrown to their knees as the company of rogues surrounded them, all led by one woman. A scoundrel looking human, long dingy red hair held together in dread locked cords, all slung together in a loosely tied mane at the back of her head. Her medium complexion had been carved up on one side of her face, from temple to collar bone. All of it contrasted the dark emerald green of her body suit, which had clearly been crafted with defense and stealth in mind. 

All of these things hailed to the fact that they were most likely dealing with a bounty hunter. The name of which, Obi-wan couldn’t even guess at. Though from first glance, she appeared to be seasoned enough. He might have thought her a pirate captain, but the outfit was all wrong. It spoke to someone who liked to work alone, someone who rarely employed others. 

It was much more likely that she had been hired to lead this crew. Their purpose? Obi-wan didn’t need to guess to know. 

“Drop the act, sweetie, I know who you two are,” the woman said, clearly not fooled or amused. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re just scrappers,” Zaria plead, not knowing the game was already up. 

Obi-wan might have told her to quit the act as well, but he found silence the better option. Best not to say too much too soon to avoid divulging any unnecessary information. 

“Zaria Rayden, proclaimed outlaw of the crowned king of Barran-Fa, Henrik Rayden. And accompanying you, your Jedi associate.” The woman said decisively. “I’ve come to take you home,” she added in a overly sweet tone. 

“He’s not the true king, he’s a usurper! A murderer!” Zaria bit out, meeting the woman’s gaze with a fierce one of her own. 

“That’s cool and all honey, but credits are the only thing that motivate me. I’m not interested in whatever drama is brewing between you and your messed up family. That’s your problem, not mine.” 

“How much is he paying you?” Obi-wan said, his voice calm and clear, emotionless. All eyes fell to him, most of the weequay grunts looking shocked to hear him say anything. “Whatever it is, I’ll double it if you take us back to Ryloth. Even more if you take us as far as Coruscant.” 

The woman in command looked to Obi-wan, then Zaria, and back to her crew. The look on her face changed from shock to amusement as she scanned the faces of the men that crowded around. “Listen to that boys, he says he’ll _double_ it.” 

The company that surrounded them began to laugh in unison with the red headed ring leader. “You know, Henrik said you might say that. He says any amount you offer, he’ll double. So please, make my day. Continue to drive up the price for turning you in.” 

More laughter erupted as the two of them were hauled up to their feet and pushed down the ramp of the freighter into the much larger ship they had been pulled inside of. “He’s going to betray you, you know. You’ll never see a single credit of what you’re owed.” Zaria shot out desperately. 

“And that will be his problem, not yours.” The woman said dismissively. “Take them to the shuttle and stow them in the brig. I’ll be there shortly. Oh, and don’t forget to take care of the Jedi, we can’t afford him to be using any of his tricks on us. Henrik’s already told you what he’s capable of. And search him for his lightsaber. He’s hiding it somewhere,” the woman said as she eyed him with lewd interest. 

Before Obi-wan could so much as take another step or protest what she had just said, a needle plunged into the meat of his thigh. Harshly and with force, the gun for hire pushed the contents of the syringe into his muscle tissue. 

“ _Ah!_ ” Obi-wan cried out and hissed. 

“What did you give him?” Zaria demanded. 

“Nothing that would kill him, sweetie. I wasn’t paid for that. Only to be sure you arrive.” The woman said as she parted ways with the company of grunts that now pushed the two of them towards an impressively large landing craft that perched before them in the first position of the hangar. 

Once they walked up the ramp, they were quickly directed to a rather large brig divided up into a few cells. Quickly Zaria was shoved behind one barred door as Obi-wan was pushed into the space opposite her. 

Two of the grunts clamored in after him as he fell to the floor from being shoved rather violently. “Where is it? You can’t hide it from us,” one of them said, moving in to pat him down. 

Obi-wan wanted to take his saber, use it against the gray skinned minions that were searching him. He might have even commandeered the ship, but he could hardly coordinate his movements enough to hold his hands out in front of himself in attempt to fend off the two that were so roughly handling him, much less launch any kind of attack on his own. The substance they had injected him with was strange, something he had never experienced before. It made his movements feel increasingly skewed, the ground beneath him becoming unsturdy as if it were made of flimsiplast. 

The force, no matter how hard he tried to reach for it, refused to touch him. It was gone. As soon as he realized it his heart began to pound in his chest, making his inebriated state just that more frightening and uncertain. There was nothing he could do. He wasn’t sure how long the effects would remain, but there was no way he could defend himself in such a state, let alone Zaria. But even as he began to panic he was stuck inside himself, limited to the delayed reactions of his current condition. 

“Where is it?” The grunt shouted again, this time ripping his fatigues in two down the middle, exposing the skin of his chest and stomach. His core tightened with distress and fear. His mind repeated the answer over and over. He desperately wanted to just tell them where it was so that they would leave him alone. But no matter how hard he tried, his lips and throat refused to cooperate. 

Now the fatigues had been pulled all the way off of him leaving him only in his small clothes as they pulled off each boot, searching them for his weapon. As if he could wield it against anyone in his state. 

“Ah, here it is, well half of it anyways, I think,” One grunt said, sounding somewhat satisfied but unsure as a hunk of metal came clanking down to the floor from one boot. 

“Here’s the rest of it.” The second weequay said, bottom half of Obi-wan’s lightsaber hilt in hand, retrieved from the second boot.

“Good, let’s lock him up and get this to the boss, then. We don’t want to keep her waiting.”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” The other agreed as they left Obi-wan floundering on the floor of his cell. 

Zaria looked over at him in full alarm. “Obi-wan, what did they do to you?” She cried out, hands tightly hanging onto the bars of her cell. “Are you okay?”

Obi-wan couldn’t answer, he only tried to pull the jumpsuit back over his body, mostly to no avail since his fingers couldn’t maneuver the zipper. He had at least managed to push his legs back through and pull it up over his waist for a fraction of modesty and comfort. But it hardly made a difference since the air of the ship was rather frigid. 

The day was certainly proving to be the worst of his entire existence, only made even more terrible by the realization that they were both doomed. He could feel the rumble of the ship meeting with atmosphere as they had already begun to make landfall. They would be delivered to Henrik who would no doubt kill them both upon arrival. If he did manage to survive, he would also be met with Qui-gon’s wrath. Between the two he thought death to be the preferable alternative. 

“Obi-wan!” Zaria cried louder, pulling hard at the durasteel bars of the cell door. 

But Obi-wan had already given up the effort of talking, or moving. He lay there on the icy cold cell floor as his body sank down into the metal, silent tears falling down the corners of his eyes making small pools on the floor below. 

“I’m sorry, I should have never dragged you into this,” Zaria lamented, her voice stained by the tears she also shed. “We’re both going to die now and it’s all my fault.” She said, curling up against the cell door in silence, watching over Obi-wan. She looked for any signs of improvement but didn’t seem to find any. Whatever it was they had given him seemed to be long lasting. 

By the time the shuttle had settled down on the landing pad just outside the palace, a long enough span of time had passed with no change in Obi-wan’s condition. Two of the hired hands walked through the brig hall doors along with the redheaded bounty hunter who wore a frustratingly smug look on her face. 

“Time to get up, kids,” she said, looking back and forth between Zaria and Kenobi. 

Zaria sent her a deathly glare, refusing to move an inch. “Get moving or my men will come in there and make you. Anything else that might befall you in that case, would be unfortunate.” She threatened in a smooth voice as the two grunts at her side snickered. 

Zaria got up begrudgingly, her unrelenting stare burning through the woman in command as the scarred face smiled back darkly at her. “Get up, Jedi. The same applies to you as well.” She barked with an amused look on her face. 

Obi-wan stirred, trying with every bit of strength in his body to lift himself off the ground to no fruition. He loathed the thought of the woman’s muscle putting hands on him again, especially in the way she alluded to. But no matter the motivation, he couldn’t get his body to respond how he needed it to. 

“What’s wrong with him?” She asked, sternness to her voice as she turned to the two weequay. 

“I don’t know boss, maybe that inhibitor drug was a tad bit strong?” One of them suggested. 

The woman huffed and gave a sigh. “Take him then, you’ll have to carry him to the palace.” 

“Yes, boss,” the other weequay said, clearly unhappy about the task. 

The cell door creaked open on its hinges as one of the hired hands tried to pull Obi-wan onto his shoulder. “He’s too heavy, I can’t do this alone,” he said in his gruff accented voice. 

“You get in there and help him,” the woman ordered as the second weequay took to lifting Obi-wan at his ankles while the first took his wrists and hoisted him up. 

The leader turned to Zaria. “Looks like I get to escort you, then,” she said with a pleased look on her face. “Try anything and I won’t hesitate to put you in your place. Really, it would make my day. For your sake, you don’t want to give me an excuse to hurt you.” The woman said nonchalant. 

Zaria growled at her under her breath, causing the woman to chuckle. “So full of spirit. If I didn’t have to turn you in for credits, I’d take you home with me. You’d make a lovely pet.” The woman said, taking her by the arm. “I’d rather like the look of you on my bed, wearing nothing but chains,” she said then chuckled. 

“You’re _sick,_ ” Zaria spat, wrenching against the grip on her arm as they made their way off the freighter and towards the palace. 

“You have _no_ idea,” the woman said quieter as she shoved Zaria forwards, leading her up the flight of stairs to the reception. The two weequay lagged behind, still struggling to carry Obi-wan’s unresponsive body up the steps. 

Henrik came out to meet with them along with his company of guards, arms open wide, an exaggerated smile on his face. “Lilith!” He exclaimed happily. “So good to see you, and with the outlaws in question, too. So effective! You even managed to capture the Jedi, as well.” He said, looking to Obi-wan’s limp body as the two grunts finally made it to the reception hall. Promptly they dropped him to the ground in front of the would-be king. 

Zaria looked on at him worriedly as Obi-wan writhed and moaned from the impact, still very much unable to stand much less fight. “What’s wrong with him?” Henrik asked, creasing his brows. 

“Nothing. Just an inhibitor injection to make him a more manageable prisoner. I couldn’t have him using his Jedi tricks on us. He would have escaped.” Lilith explained in short. “You said he was a slippery one.” 

“Ah, yes. That he is.” Henrik agreed.

“Now about payment. The Jedi offered to double your price, so you will honor your agreement to double that of which he offered.” Lilith said expectantly. 

“You have no proof of such a claim,” Henrik said, still smiling wide as his guard took a step forward, hands on their blasters. 

“You _will_ honor the deal,” Lilith said threateningly, as the two hired grunts also reached for their blasters. 

“Did you honestly think I hired you because of your ability? I could have hired more capable hands. Jango Fett, Aurra Sing. But no, I hired you. A no name, unknown bounty hunter to lead a low life crew of ingrates. Because you need this money, and you will take what I offer. There will be no further negotiations.” Henrik said dryly. 

“I told you he would do this, you should have taken our deal.” Zaria said under her breath. 

Lilith snarled as the two weequay at her side grumbled. “Who are you calling ingrates?” One of them called out. “Honor the deal and give us our credits before we blast your smug little head off your shoulders,” the gray skinned grunt said, pulling out his blaster and aiming it at Henrik. 

“For the displeasure of dealing with you, you will only receive half of the agreed upon price.” Henrik announced as the detail of guards aimed their blasters on the three mercenaries in front of them. 

“Unacceptable, Henrik. You can keep the Jedi, but I’m taking the girl back with me. If you only want to pay half, you only get half.” Lilith snarled, pulling Zaria in front of her as a shield.

“I’ve changed my mind. You will receive nothing but a swift death. You and the crew. Guards,” Henrik called out as the detail had already gunned the two weequay down, and began to flank Lilith and Zaria out from behind until they were effectively surrounded.

“I would say it was nice to do business with you, but you know, it _wasn’t_ , so.” Henrik said calmly. 

“You filthy lying pile of shit!” Lilith screamed. “You’ll get yours, someday.”

“Ah, yes perhaps. But you get yours, today. Goodbye, Lilith.” Henrik said just as casually as one guard at the rear fired one precision blaster bolt to the back of her head, sending her body lurching forward, pinning Zaria to the ground beneath her. 

Still, Obi-wan lie on the cold marble of the reception hall, trying with all his might to get up. So far he had succeeded in turning himself onto his side, but he had run out of strength and found himself stuck there while he was forced to watch everything unfold before him. 

Zaria struggled under the deadweight of Lilith’s body until two of the guard pulled her free, one on each of her arms holding her to face Henrik. “Oh darling,” he chided, moving a hand to brush hair from her face. With a snarl she moved to bite his hand, but was unsuccessful. 

“So beautiful yet so feral,” he said sadly. “What a shame. Now the only question is what to do with you. At the moment i’m caught between selling you into slavery, or giving you a public execution.” 

“You better kill me, because if you let me live, i’ll come back for you. I won’t stop until you pay for what you’ve done.” Zaria vowed, inclining her head. 

“Well, i’ll think on it.” He said, studying her face closely. “Guards, take her and the Jedi and stow them in the jail for the night while I ponder their fate.” 

“As you command, my King.” The lead guard said as Zaria was hauled away. One guard pulled Obi-wan up onto his shoulder and followed behind as they trailed to the lower levels of the palace where they would be held prisoner. 

Though as they were brought down to the holding levels, Zaria couldn’t believe her eyes. Each cell was stuffed with bodies, the stench of human filth thick in the air. Men, women, children, all fettered and locked away behind bars. So this was it, she thought. The root of the underground slave trade on Barran-Fa. Not only were they killing anyone who dissented his reign, but he was selling civilians as slaves! She should have seen it, she thought. But it was too late, now. There was no going back. 

There were two empty cells at the very back of the block, reserved for the two of them, no doubt. She had assumed correct, as she was cast into one and Obi-wan into the one beside her. 

“Obi-wan!” Zaria called out, reaching for his shoulder through the bars that separated them. “We have to find a way out of here. There has to be a way, with all of these others, maybe we can figure out a way to work together,” she suggested. 

“I-I can’t” Obi-wan started, his words broken and weak as his vocal chords gave out on him again.

“You’ve got to push past whatever it is they gave you, quickly.” Zaria said in earnest. 

If only it were that easy. It wasn’t. Obi-wan gave a heaving, defeated sigh. “Please,” Zaria begged. Obi-wan didn’t- couldn’t reply. 

Frustrated, Zaria moved to the opposite wall of her cell, to reach out to the would-be slaves on the other side. “Hey, how long have you been down here. Where are you from?” 

The people on the other side cowered, not answering her question, only returning it with scared worried glances at her then towards each other. “Hey, I think if we work together, we can get out of here,” she said. 

One of the men spoke up. “If you keep talking to us, you’re going to get us all _killed_. You don’t know what they’ll do if they hear you.” 

Zaria moved closer, waving the man over. He moved to the bars where she was at, leaning in close. “Eventually, there’s going to be a time when we can all attack and take the palace back. It’s only going to work if everyone fights together.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” the man said, whispering low. 

“I do. It’s dangerous, I know. But isn’t it worth the risk? You don’t want to die as slaves. You’re free people. We all are.” Zaria said, her wild eyes searing into the man’s unsure gaze. 

“Who are you? You don’t understand what it is down here. There’s no way out other than being sold.”

“I’m the daughter of the man Henrik killed to take power.” Zaria proclaimed. “If you help me, I can end all of this. We can take our world back, for good. Put an end to this for us, for everyone else.” 

“You're the dutchess?” The man asked, wide eyed. 

“Yes. Henrik doesn’t want me to speak out against him. I saw him murder my own father in cold blood for his power. He has to be stopped.” Zaria plead. 

She could see the thoughts behind his eyes churning, the spark of hope lighting his once dim eyes. “We’re stronger together. We can do this, but we need everyone. Can you spread the word?” 

“I will see what I can do,” the man said, determination taking hold in his voice. Zaria smiled. 

The man retreated back to the others in his cell, whispering inaudibly, keeping watch for guard that might hear them. She could see the worried expressions on the faces of the others, that same spark of hope come alive in a few, which encouraged hope to grow in the hearts of the rest. Content with what she had put in motion, she moved back to where Obi-wan lie. 

“We’re going to get out of here, Obi-wan. You are, too.” Zaria said confidently with a small smile on her face. 

Obi-wan’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure he wanted to get out, to whatever would await him. Only his body couldn’t convey an ounce of the reservation he was feeling. 

Eventually he allowed himself to close his eyes, as he had become thoroughly exhausted, only made more so by the poison that coursed through his veins. He had instantly fallen asleep, unaffected by the murmuring and whispers of the too many captives within the cells. 

He wasn’t sure of how long he had been sleeping when the creaking of his cell door opened, as familiar large, warm hands shook his shoulders. 

He sat up, inching away from the person who knelt by his side. His body was only slightly more manageable, as he felt he _might_ be able to stand at this point, but it was still very questionable as to whether or not he could. His head still felt odd, his arms and legs heavy and wobbly. 

“Qui-gon,” Obi-wan said, fear filling his jewel blue eyes. His master held a finger against his lips, telling him to stay quiet. He obeyed, as he wasn't about to test the man’s patience any further. 

Most of the slaves were asleep in their cells, Zaria as well sleeping soundly beside him. Obi-wan’s eyes darted over to Zaria, and over the others before looking back at his master in question. 

Qui-gon narrowed his eyes at him before he reached out a hand, also shaking Zaria awake through the gap in the cell’s bars. She roused slowly then looked over, thoroughly surprised and confused by Qui-gon’s presence. Before she could ask or say anything, Qui-gon spoke, pulling a key out from his cloak 

“This key will unlock all of the doors in here, the shackles, too. Use this opportunity to take your kingdom back. I can’t help you. Wait a few minutes after we leave to start rescuing these people.” Qui-gon commanded, looking down into her eyes seriously. 

Zaria was speechless. “I-I don’t know what to say, Th-thank you, Master Jedi,” she stammered as Qui-gon stood, and waited for Obi-wan to rise. 

With great difficulty fighting gravity every inch of the way, Obi-wan managed to use the bars of the cell to pull himself up then proceeded to waver, dangerously close to tumbling back down. Qui-gon steadied him, looking at him with a frustrated questioning gaze. 

“They…” Obi-wan began, his lips and throat betraying him again, his knees buckling. Qui-gon quickly reached under his arms, holding him up off the ground as he fell to rest his groggy head against his master’s chest. 

“They injected him with some sort of inhibitor, he’s barely been able to move or speak since then,” Zaria said, worriedly. “Is he going to be okay?” 

“He’ll be just fine,” Qui-gon said grimly, hoisting up Obi-wan’s half naked body in his arms, pulling his cloak around the both of them. “Remember, wait a few minutes.” He said with a serious stare. 

“Okay. Thank you.” She said in earnest, though with a distrusting look in her eye as he took Obi-wan away in his arms.

Obi-wan wanted to say something, to even just look at her one last time to say farewell. As much as he had come to loathe her at moments, he didn't want to leave just yet. Here on Barran-Fa, with the Dutchess Zaria, he had come to know a certain sense of freedom. He didn't want it to end. He could hear the same reservations in her own voice, as she had spoken to his master. 

Without a single moment to honor the reverence of the moment Qui-gon proceeded to move silently, feet not making a sound as he carried Obi-wan out through the palace. All of the guards they passed were sound asleep, drugged, or dead. Obi-wan couldn’t see well enough to know, and his ability to feel through the force was still non-existent. Though it wouldn’t have surprised him if Qui-gon had taken the opportunity to make a few kills of his own. 

Without a word his Master carried him up into a ship Obi-wan didn’t recognise. It was a small transport, perhaps big enough for four crew. He didn’t study it much as his Master held him in his arms, the warmth of the man’s body heat warming his chilled skin. He hadn’t realized just how cold he had been until Qui-gon had picked him up. His master’s skin felt like glowing hot coals, radiating a soothing warmth deep into his bones. 

He might have enjoyed it more, had he not been sure of the terrible consequences he would most definitely face. Qui-gon carried him up to the small bridge, setting him down on one of the passenger chairs as he keyed the engines on, plotting a course through hyperspace. To where? Obi-wan had no idea.


	12. Purgatory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break, there's been a lot going on over here along with a good stent of writer's block that I only just barely seem to be working past now. I hope you all have had a good new year! Hope to see you soon in a new chapter. So much more planned! So thank you for everyone for reading. :)
> 
> Stay well and take care of yourselves!

Much time had passed since master Yoda had tasked Quinlan Vos with the investigation of Obi-wan’s disappearance. And with each passing week that added to the months that he had been missing, Vos’s work seemed to take him more and more into the darkness. He found it ever increasingly difficult to separate himself from that darkness, as he was forced to mingle and co-exist with terribly debauched beings along with the most despicable characters the lower levels of Coruscant had to offer. 

But it hadn’t started out that way, and surely master Yoda had never intended the job to evolve in such a manner. But it was a task of necessity even the elder Jedi master had to agree. A task that Vos had been willing to take on and one he would not be turned away from as he got closer and closer to his objective. 

Because when he had felt inside Obi-wan’s empty apartment, he felt the void of where Qui-gon should have been. When he followed the trail outside into the streets and alleys of the planet he felt even more things amiss. When Vos had happened across the dead force restraint merchant with an anklet in his possession that was unmistakably attached to Obi-wan, he knew that he was in dire trouble. Even worse was the idea that Qui-gon must have been the one to endow him with it. Still master Yoda required more. They needed proof, something that would stand up in the court of law. 

So Vos took the opportunity of the black market vacuum that had been created by the merchant’s death and inserted himself in his place. The underworld had been less than eager to accept him in the beginning. Though as time had passed he came to develop a reputation for himself as a cold and ruthless black market dealer. Along with it came the repertoire he required to investigate effectively. 

With his ever growing credibility in the underworld master Yoda’s concerns grew with it. How far would Vos go to chase down Obi-wan? Would he even trade his own light, taint it with the dark for the sake of uncovering the truth?

Yoda’s concerns were understandable and Vos did take them to heart. But he had to keep on. He couldn’t give up, now. And in spite of his protests master Yoda couldn’t bring himself to halt the investigation either. 

One thing that Vos took solace in was the fact that he never enjoyed it; the trading of souls that he had often become party to. Somehow that had to speak to his own light. That even if only silently, he hated such darkness. The worst of all was when clients would bring him their force sensitive slaves to be custom fitted with force restraints or implants. 

Living isolated in the temple Vos would have never dreamed of so many force sensitives being sold and traded. Though in the underworld just one force sensitive soul was a goldmine, worth more than twenty maybe even fifty other souls. One of the only things that kept him sane was knowing all that everyone he traded with would be reported to the council to be put on a watch list of traffickers. That someday maybe they would be brought to justice. 

It did little to soothe the ache in his soul that manifested as he helped enable the slime who lorded over other beings, calling them property. All he could think every time the next slaver came to him was that maybe this time he would find Obi-wan. Though he had never been so lucky. 

But as he watched and listened from his place in the underworld there was always talk of the Black Sun syndicate and the Jedi they had in their possession. For a while Vos had written it off as a marketing tactic. Surely they could call any force sensitive a Jedi. Put a force restraint on them and anyone else would never know the difference. 

Though he wasn’t about to let the lead go unexplored. Even though he doubted the credibility of what he was hearing he was obligated to look into it. So Vos began probing his clientele, asking around if anyone had ever seen this supposed Jedi slave. For the first few months not many others knew much of it either.

It wasn’t soon after that when he began to hear the slavers start talking of the Jedi in captivity. Such a wild and strong thing broken down to serve others basest needs. It was an exotic market ploy to be sure, and one that had worked. Soon it had become the talk of the underworld and nearly every dark and filthy being with such appetites were desperate for an hour with him. 

It was a test when Vos’s own clients came to him divulging their own personal experiences with the Jedi in question. It made his stomach churn, his aura grow wrathful. It took every scrap of willpower and strength to keep himself from killing the smug horrid beings who would speak of the things they had done to the poor soul in question. 

They would describe the fragile, delicate frame, pale skin and golden brown hair. Even the saber burn Obi-wan had on his left arm from a sparring session between himself and Vos when they were children. Everything had been described to him in great detail, things that made his heart burn with righteous fury as his core quaked with rage. Vos knew absolutely without a doubt that the Jedi was indeed Obi-wan Kenobi. 

Vos needed a way to get in with the Black Sun syndicate. He could try to make them buy from him. If he was lucky he could get an invitation to their facility, perhaps do some custom restraint fitting of their own force sensitives in-house. For a sizable fee of course. Or better yet, in exchange for a session with the coveted Jedi. If he could swing that much he would be able to get Obi-wan out of that terrible place. He would have to hold himself back from killing every one of those terrible slavers and enablers. 

Perhaps master Yoda was right. The dark was taking a toll on him. Because he did fear for his childhood friend, and he was was angry at all that had been done to him. He hated them. He wanted everyone who hurted him in such a way to die at the end of his blade. It was his own sense of justice that demanded it be so but it was also himself that resisted it. He could save Obi-wan, and that alone would be enough. 

It would have to be enough. 

So Vos had began putting word out, trying to get in contact with Black Sun. They had been difficult to trade with, near impossible. Syndicates like that had all of their own infrastructure and wanted for nothing. If you had something they wanted they took it, and handed out whatever fee they deemed fair. It was nearly impossible to come at them from a mercantile angle. Instead Vos drummed up enough credits to get himself inside. It took a few weeks of careful credit management but he eventually had paid his way. 

So Vos sat in the seediest bar in perhaps all of Coruscant carefully tucked back in a corner as he waited for his contact. They had insisted he pay the entry fee up front, but he refused. He would only hand the credits over to his escort, not some random courrier who might run off with his money and leave him with nothing to show for it. He had to stay true to his profile, he couldn’t compromise his reputation. Not yet. Not until he had Obi-wan in hand and he was ready to slice his way out of whatever compound he was being held in. 

Though as the hour grew late, he had just about given up when a light green skinned Twi'lek shroud in a black cloak came and sat across from him at his table. Her eyes were dull, speaking to the heavy drugs they used to sedate and manage her, to keep her compliant. Vos’s anger grew, but he steadied it. 

“Jaq Hett?” the Twi’lek asked, voicing Vos’s alias he had been working under for the past six months. 

Vos grunted. “I was beginning to think I’d been forgotten.” He said, sitting back from his slumped position. 

“If you are ready to submit payment, I would be happy to escort you now.” The woman said in a vacant yet pleasant voice, her eyes glazed over listlessly. 

Vos’s eyes darted back and forth anxiously before he handed her over the bag of credits. “Wonderful, now follow me,” she said as she floated up from her chair and moved for a door that lead deeper into the establishment. 

Vos followed her through many different rooms full of drinking and drunk bar patrons, loud music and dancing women of all races and species, all of them barely clad if clothed at all. Eventually they reached a door that led into a silent corridor, one that was well lit and scrubbed clean. At the end of the hall was another door. This one made of thick durasteel with a screen embedded near the top of it. 

The Twi’lek pressed a button near to the side of the door, and the screen came to life revealing a fancily dressed man with well groomed facial hair curling at the sides of his face. “Jaq Hett presenting for entry, my Lord. Payment has been received.” 

The man nodded as the door clicked open, beginning to mechanically open on its hinges. “The master will see you now,” the Twi’lek said, giving a short bow. “I hope you enjoy your visit, Mr. Hett.” 

.......

Consciousness proved to be fleeting and equally elusive for Obi-wan as Qui-gon traversed various hyperspace lanes seamlessly with all the skill of a seasoned pilot. At the very least Qui-gon was that much, among other things mostly sinister in nature. 

In Obi-wan’s drugged and absent state it was difficult, nearly impossible to keep a hold on the moment for the imminent danger that he was sure to face. The inhibitor that still coursed through his veins dulled him in many ways, draining him past the point of acute exhaustion. His body had practically shut itself off with his need for sleep and rest being more dire and pressing than anything else. 

Though he did try to fight it, in the few glimpses of consciousness he was allowed between his febrile lapses. It did little to help him maintain any sort of grip on the moment. All he could see in those sparse seconds were the lines of starlight flooding through the viewport as they continued on towards whatever misery his master had planned for him. 

And it arrived all too soon, as Qui-gon shook Obi-wan’s shoulder until he was roused to the highest level of alertness he could muster. Past squinted eyes pained by the stimulus and bright fluorescent lights outside the viewport, Obi-wan took in the sights to help gain his bearings. From the look of the buildings and low life that milled around every which way he thought they might have landed on Nar Shaddaa. Though Obi-wan didn’t dare ask.

Clearly Qui-gon didn’t have much patience for Obi-wan’s sluggishness. Roughly, he gave Obi-wan a shove forward nearly throwing him from the co-pilot’s chair. “Get that thing zipped up, we’re going landside.” He ordered gruffly. 

Quickly Obi-wan tried desperately to comply knowing it never wise to defy the man, especially now. Though he couldn’t get his fingers to pinch around the zipper pull the way he needed to gain any sort of purchase on it. Every time he tried to grasp the small metal tab it slipped right through his grip as if his hands were made out of lead. Even through his exhaustion he could feel his pulse quicken. He didn’t need the force to feel the anger that roared around his Master’s aura. 

Qui-gon gave an exasperated sigh at Obi-wan’s fumbling and quickly strode over to pull it closed himself. The quick movement made Obi-wan flinch. He was thoroughly surprised when he hadn’t been met with violence as he had expected. Surely he wasn’t getting off the hook so easily after defying his Master in such a terrible way. 

After making quick work of zipping up Obi-wan’s greased fatigues, he headed out towards the ramp of the vessel. “Follow me,” he commanded in a grim monotone. The sound of his voice held the promise of pain, of things he didn’t want to think about.

But he had made his choices. He couldn’t disobey his Master anymore. Not without facing even more grave consequences, the likes of which he couldn’t even fathom if he tried. He got to his feet with every muscle and fiber of his body straining and aching as he did. Faithfully, he followed his Master. There was nothing else he _could_ do. 

So Obi-wan followed his Master through the back alleys of the dark and shady businesses for an indistinguishable amount of time. With each block and turn Obi-wan found his body failing him. Or was it that somehow the ground had just become unpredictably unstable? Either way he had tumbled more times than he could keep track of, skinning his knees through the thin fabric of his mechanic fatigues until the red of his blood began to steep through. The heels of his hands had become equally torn and ripped by the rough duracrete below.

But he knew he couldn’t stop now. He had to keep going. He could see it in his Master’s eyes every time he dared to look in the man’s direction. In his own eyes he could feel the manifestation of the helplessness and hopelessness that he felt consume his heart. Not that it would soften his Master’s resolve to make him suffer. But perhaps it would earn him even the slightest of reprieve when the time came. There was no way to tell, and Obi-wan was too fearful to give much hope to the prospect. 

But again and again, his feet refused to cooperate and his body took more effort to move than he had to give until he found himself crashing to the rocky surface below again, without the ability to hoist himself up. He was afraid to look up at his Master as the man walked over to where he lie, struggling against the gravity that pressed against him with force that seemed to be stronger than he remembered only moments ago. 

But he tried still, groaning and heaving as he fought his body’s exhaustion in vain. He wanted to tell his Master how sorry he was, how he was trying. But even his voice refused to cooperate. 

Then Qui-gon reached down and pulled his body into his arms, hoisting Obi-wan up with little to no effort. Obi-wan couldn’t see his Master’s face but he was sure he was better off not seeing the turbid expression that was sure to have been resting there. It was a common mask for Qui-gon to hide behind, one that kept most people guessing as to what lie beneath. 

But Obi-wan knew what brewed in his Master’s aura even though he didn’t have the force to sense it. It was written in stone. Or rather, determined by the thoughtless actions and decisions Obi-wan had made of late. Behind the placid exterior lie a turbulent sea of anger and wrath, all for him and him alone.

But still his Master carried him through the darkened streets and alleys. Obi-wan was afraid to let himself feel comforted by the way the man took him up in his arms gently. He knew they were headed towards something terrible. The obscurity of what it was only made it worse. 

But he clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to see where they were going. He could hear the sounds of the city surround them as they headed deeper into its core. Obi-wan could hear the ambiance change as they went out into a busier street and then into a building. 

The door clanged as they entered. The room was quiet. He could see fluorescent lights steep through his eyelids. There was the scent of cheap perfume and dusty upholstery. Then there was the clacking of keys being pressed, the beep and chirp of computers. Still, he was too afraid to look around. 

“One room, please.” Qui-gon said, his voice laden with heavy bass reverberating through Obi-wan’s body. He cursed it for how comforting it was, and how terrified it made him feel. 

“Here you go dear, that will be twenty credits. And I’ll need your name and details on this form right here.” A voice sounded out, rich and accented yet coarse. A rugged feminine voice that had been weathered by several years of underworld life. 

The clanking of credits hitting the counter filled the room before an eerie stillness. Then, that deep voice again. “You can keep the extra credits. You don’t need my name or details.” Qui-gon’s voice sounded out in his suggestive cadence. 

“I’ll keep the extra credits. I don’t need your name or details.” The woman chanted. “Room 309, on the third floor up. Here’s your key card.” She added, slightly confused.

With a acquiescent grunt, Qui-gon moved his arm that held Obi-wan’s legs and took the card in hand. Then they turned to climb the stairs up into the suites above until they reached the third floor. Holding onto each moment as if he could make time stop with his efforts, Obi-wan counted each step. There were thirty six steps total before they came to a stop.

Obi-wan could feel his chest restrict and his heart beat faster as they stood at the door. Qui-gon slid the card through the reader and unlocked the door without a word. The sharp smell of citrus cleaner assaulted his senses as the door closed behind them. Still, Obi-wan didn’t open his eyes. Maybe if he could keep them shut none of this would exist. It would just be a bad dream. 

But finally Qui-gon laid Obi-wan down on the sleeper and set the key card down on the table across the room. Hesitantly Obi-wan’s eyes blinked open. He could see the sparse furnishings of the cheap hotel room, the old carpet of the floor that had been worn down to the threads and the stains that had steeped into them. 

He could see his Master’s boots step towards him, as Qui-gon came to sit beside him on the sleeper. Obi-wan forced his tired body to sit up against the headboard, wriggling over to sit at the far edge as far as he could get away from his Master who looked over at him with an empty stare. It took every ounce of strength he had to move away from the man, to stay on guard. 

So Obi-wan looked over to Qui-gon as his chest restricted, just barely daring to look at the man’s face, at his serene expression. Obi-wan shuddered. He wanted to shrink away, to curl up and hide but he didn’t dare take his eyes off him. He was prey, cornered by the predator. Paralyzed by his fears. Waiting for the worst. 

Qui-gon came closer, shifting his body on the sleeper to sit beside Obi-wan. Gently he reached out, tracing a scratch on Obi-wan’s cheek as he studied it with interest. Obi-wan’s breath faltered, not willing to take his eyes off the man that came too close. 

“You disobeyed me, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon said calmly, casting damnation in his gentleness.

Obi-wan couldn’t breathe. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, entranced and ensnared by his Master’s intense stare. “I shouldn’t have disobeyed you… It was stupid, so _stupid_. Please Master, have mercy,” he begged through his taut vocal chords, fearful tears welling in his desperate eyes.

Typically Obi-wan would have felt the violence in his Master’s aura, his dark thoughts taking form. Without access to the force he was blinded. He could see his master leaning in over him, his feigned sweetness manifesting with gentle touches. He knew beneath it was the seething man that had hurt him before. That would certainly hurt him again. But the only thing that he could really feel was his own unrelenting fear. 

“Tell me, what use are you to me if you don’t obey my commands? What am I to do with a disobedient padawan?” Qui-gon asked rhetorically, his lurid stare piercing right through Obi-wan’s tortured heart. 

Obi-wan gasped, blinking away tears from his vision. “I’m sorry Master, please forgive me,” Obi-wan begged again, his eyes filled with all the regret and sorrow that he would never be able to express. 

But in the face of his petition, Qui-gon’s eyes turned cold, all the empty kindness bleeding out of them until there was only the raw anger left shining back in them. “You did nothing but push your bounds ever since I arrived to rescue you and your _precious_ new friend.” Qui-gon bit out harshly, sounding even slightly scorned. 

What was it, jealousy? Certainly not. Not that it mattered. Obi-wan should have never disobeyed, he cursed himself for every terrible decision he made that brought them here. If only they could have been locked inside that sweet moment forever, where Qui-gon held him and kissed him and had given him a taste of what he thought was love. 

It was never love. It was always about what Qui-gon wanted. But he would go back to that moment and relive it forever if he could. The one time in his life he felt truly wanted, truly cared for. Even if it was an illusion, it was the sweetest one there ever had been. 

But for how sweet and wonderful things could be they could be just as awful. Just like now, as Obi-wan waited through the prelude to something he dared not think of. Something he would have never imagined. 

Obi-wan had to remind himself to breathe in his panic. His head was already spinning from a lack of oxygen. It was difficult to breathe when his master stared back at him with such dark intent, none of it hidden any longer. The sneer on the man’s lips told of his disgust, loathing, discontentment. 

“I-I’m so sorry Master, I’ll be better I promise. I-I’ll never disobey you ever again,” Obi-wan cried as his voice cracked, a few rogue sobs escaping him as his core trembled. 

But it wasn’t good enough, his Master still wasn’t pleased. The intensifying anger in Qui-gon’s expression made his stomach twist with fear and exhaustion. Much to his frustration and helplessness, the inhibitor was getting the best of him as he felt his back sag against the headboard and mattress.

But then Qui-gon’s face went soft again, and he spoke out in a soothing voice. “You betrayed me, Obi-wan. How can I trust you?” He said, his eyes boring into Obi-wan’s glossy tear stained gaze. Obi-wan could feel his Master’s presence probing into his mind, into the core of his being as if to search out a truth he didn’t already know. 

Obi-wan gasped as the pressure inside his skull worsened, becoming sharp and searing. He gritted his teeth against the pain, not trying to resist his Master’s probing. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, even if he had access to the force. His Master was so much more powerful than he was. He would always be. 

Then just as suddenly his Master retracted from his mind. His gaze had grown unresponsive and monotone. Obi-wan could see resolve in those eyes, something terrible and wicked glinting from within. He knew if he could feel through the force, he would sense the imminent violence like static in the air. 

“Please Master,” Obi-wan cried as Qui-gon came closer. 

With delicate care Qui-gon wiped the tears out of Obi-wan’s eyes and leaned in close. “I could kill you right now, and no one would ever suspect a thing.” He whispered sweetly, his lips grazing Obi-wan’s ear as he spoke. 

A bolt of panic lanced through Obi-wan’s unresponsive body as Qui-gon withdrew a hooked knife from the folds of his tunic. Gently he placed it under Obi-wan’s chin, pressing ever so slightly against his skin. 

“No, _please,_ ” Obi-wan whispered, clenching his eyes shut as tears rolled down his cheeks. The point of the blade dug into his skin near the point of breaking, but not quite. Obi-wan could hear his heart pounding in his ears, overlaying his Master’s voice.

“Do you know what they would say when they found your body?” Qui-gon asked softly, still whispering softly as he nuzzled against the side of his face. “ _Poor Obi-wan, run away from his Master only to be drugged, beaten, cut up, raped and killed in some dirty hotel room on Nar Shaddaa. Not even his lightsaber to defend himself. Oh the poor boy, how he must have suffered. How terrible_.”

_No stop I don’t want to remember..._

“No I’m sorry master, please,” Obi-wan gasped out. “Please don’t-” he cried, cursing the weakness in his limbs and all of the terrible decisions he had made. Qui-gon pressed harder, drawing a small trickle of blood from under his chin. 

“When i’m done with you, _if_ I decide to let you live, you’ll never disobey me again. Not just because i’ve commanded it, but because you’ll know what might happen if you do.” Qui-gon growled. 

Obi-wan didn’t have anymore words left to contend with, not that he had any to begin with other than his frantic desperate pleas for his Master to forgive or show mercy. Every part of his trembling, terrified core retreated and froze. Every part of him that wanted to beg and promise and entreat was silenced, especially as his master turned the blade down to hook over the top of his jumper and slashed down through the fabric along with several layers of his skin. 

_I’m not there anymore, it’s over now, it’s over…_

Obi-wan tensed, writhed and cried out as the blade broke the skin of his chest and abdomen, spilling red out onto his pale skin and the stiff bleach white sheets beneath his body. Qui-gon slashed and ripped at the garment until he lie naked and bleeding on the sleeper below him. The only thing left to adorn him was the cursed braid that fell over his bloodied shoulder. 

Qui-gon ran his hand down Obi-wan’s flank as he shivered from the cold air that assaulted his skin, from the terror and shock that had settled in as a veil over his senses making everything feel deadened and distant. Then Qui-gon grabbed his shoulders and pinned him face down.

Obi-wan trembled, letting out silenced sobbs as his body shook with fear. He could feel his Master run the knife over the length of his back, drawing small red lines. Then the knife paused at his side, digging aggressively into his flesh. Reactively, Obi-wan cried out in pain.

Just as quickly, Qui-gon reached around to clamp his hand over Obi-wan’s mouth as he moved the blade to rest against his throat. “If you want to live, you’ll be silent,” Qui-gon growled as he hastily unsheathed himself from his leggings before he forced himself on his padawan, like so many times before. 

_I want to wake up…_

The pain of it was dreadfully familiar, but different at the same time. For all the ways his master had hurt him before, never had he ever been so afraid. Inside himself, his heart turned to ash and his blood to acid as he put all effort on being as quiet as he could. Because any stifled cry or scream could be his last. 

He understood now, he could feel the truth of it. How he was just a possession to his Master. A thing with a purpose. If he couldn’t serve to his Master’s liking, he would be disposed of. Replaced. Obi-wan had hoped that perhaps they might have been able to find love or some semblance of it at least. How wrong he was to ever think such a thing. 

Obi-wan didn’t belong to himself. Every part of him belonged to his Master. Qui-gon made sure it was so. Even now as Qui-gon used his body his Master reached deep inside of his mind, touching every part of him that Obi-wan never wanted him to feel, hearing every desperate thought that was never meant for him. All of the shameful desires and emotions he kept locked away were on display to the man who ravaged him in all ways- body, mind and soul. 

Qui-gon chuckled darkly, his voice rapt with pleasure and labored from exertion. “I don’t want you to love me. I want you to _obey_ me.” 

And then- _No, no I don’t want to remember... ___

__Qui-gon pulled the knife- _No please wake up, I want to wake up...__ _

__There was a sharp pain, searing and overwhelming. _It hurt so much, but it’s over now. I’m not there, i’m not-__ _

__Obi-wan cried out, though he had tried so hard to be quiet like his master had commanded. But Qui-gon didn’t stop it hurt so much… _No, no no no,_ “NO!” Obi-wan cried out, his eyes going wide as he jolted awake. _ _

__Frantically while still gasping for air he scanned the room around him. It took a moment for him to remember where he was as the echo of that horrible night drained from his senses. Though he could still remember how it felt as his Master tore into his flesh, how not a single word could describe the raw terror that filled his soul._ _

__But that was over, and he was more than ready to let himself forget it again. It was too much to remember, too much to deal with. It was so much easier to let it slip back into the mental vault of things deemed too wretched or terrible to think about. Just letting himself remember it at all evoked something that felt even worse than living it out. It was another strange emotion he couldn’t quite put a word to. But that could go away too, for now._ _

__Because he had much more pressing concerns to deal with. Through the fog that bogged down his mental faculties he trudged and pushed until he could recall the circumstance he found himself in, in its entirety. His reality was depressing perhaps even hopeless. But he still held one purpose._ _

___Anakin._ _ _

__Obi-wan’s heart broke. How was he to reach the boy, to make sure he was alright? To kill anyone who might have hurt him? He seemed to be in just as much need of rescue himself. Though his situation had indeed improved. He wasn’t chained to a duracrete slab anymore. Though all the same he was trapped, his access to the force severed perhaps by a drug or an implant. His degenerating physical state only compounded his inability to defend himself with the force._ _

__Though he wasn’t about to lay there and do nothing. He needed to move, to get up. Slowly and with great effort Obi-wan forced himself into an upright position. The exertion alone had him feeling shaky and sweaty, even nauseous. Or was that perhaps the withdrawal setting in?_ _

__Looking down to study his arms he could see numerous track marks down the branches of his veins. It was the sickening evidence of all the times they had drugged him against his will. Each pock mark perhaps counting one or more individuals who climbed on top of him and used his unconscious body._ _

__Obi-wan fought tears, refusing to cry or succumb to how desecrated he truly felt. Feeling sorry for himself wasn’t going to get him out of this prison. It wasn’t going to bring strength back to his body, or the light of the force back into his soul. He was going to have to get up. So he did. Shakily he set one foot at a time on the floor below and forced himself to walk the perimeter of the room._ _

__Between each forced step that took nearly all of his energy to muster, Obi-wan fought off the thoughts that rose up. Desperate horrible thoughts that would easily capsize any effort to escape if he let them. Things like how long he might have been unconscious for. How long Anakin had been left in the care of that monster he called Master._ _

__The salty sting of tears hit his eyes as he thought of the young boy as he hoped and prayed Qui-gon hadn’t laid a hand on him. Obi-wan didn’t think he could live with himself if he did. Though Qui-gon had told him as much, had threatened to take out his lecherous desires on that poor boy. If he had ever laid a hand on Anakin Obi-wan was ready to kill the man out of pure vengeance, then kill himself afterwards for the part he would have played. If only he had just accepted his lot then none of this would ever have happened._ _

__Now in addition to the possibility of Anakin being harmed so dreadfully in ways that could never be made right, he had suffered as well. Instead of enduring his Master he had been used by countless others instead. Somehow it seemed worse. The hands that had touched him, held him in ways that he had never wanted, felt him in places he never wanted anyone to feel, had wounded him mercilessly. Those strangers never held a thought to place marks in concealed places like Qui-gon had. They had never thought once to his own pleasure or wellbeing._ _

__Deep in the throes of self pity and remorse Obi-wan stopped. He didn’t think he could move another step. Just the thought of putting forth any more effort felt impossible. He felt his hand press against the duracrete slab wall of his med room, the gritted texture that grabbed the skin of his palm as he shifted his weight. He wanted to let go, let himself fall to the ground. If he was lucky perhaps he would die there. Could he will himself to pass on into peace?_ _

__Peace._ _

___There was no emotion, there was peace._ _ _

__Obi-wan wished he could truly believe that, but he wasn’t convinced there would ever be such a thing for him. Maybe peace existed for others and he most certainly hoped it was so. Perhaps in death there might be peace, but there was no death only the force. Somehow the prospect made passing on feel like another prison where he might be haunted by all his shortcomings for the rest of eternity. Though it couldn’t be likened to hell, which he was sure he must have been living out in the present. It would be an everlasting purgatory for him to exist in his regrets for the rest of time, until the end of the universe. He would be forced to bear witness to Anakin’s mistreatment and abuse while not being able to do a thing about it._ _

__That was unacceptable._ _

__Obi-wan forced himself to focus. He couldn’t afford to give up now. Anakin depended on him. He had to be sure the boy was safe. It may have seemed like a hopeless situation and his soul might have been tattered and frayed but he had to press on. Not for the sake of his own honor, not for the sake of vengeance. Not his own anyhow. But for Anakin. He owed it to him to at least try. Try or die trying._ _

__Choking on tears he wouldn’t allow himself Obi-wan put another foot forward and kept on, circling the perimeter of the room. He emptied his mind as best he could and made four rotations before he collapsed on the med table. He let himself rest a few minutes before he forced himself up to make a few more rounds. He repeated the same routine over and over until an indistinguishable amount of time had passed._ _

__Between staving off the hopelessness that constantly threatened to overtake his will and the enormous effort it took to just keep himself moving, Obi-wan hadn’t lent much thought as to why they didn’t have him turning out a profit for when the most part he wasn’t injured. At least not critically. Judging from how weak he had become keeping him in good health hadn’t been a priority for the management. While he did have a handful of healing scars that still looked fresh, he had most certainly been worse for wear. When he had woken up the first time he had felt various bruises and injuries all over his body from head to toe._ _

__The implications of his current situation might have been obvious but Obi-wan was far from the correct mindset to be judging such things, mind fog aside. Just his disorientation with what year it was had him feeling out of place and unsure. That among other more obvious things such as being in such a terrible place to begin with. But something inside of himself told him he might be on his way out of that place. To somewhere better or worse, he had no idea._ _

__Just before Obi-wan was about to take another walk around the perimeter of the room he heard footsteps approaching. His stomach dropped as his heart raced. They weren’t going to take him back into that horrible room where all those people could do horrible, terrible things to him. He wanted to die first._ _

__But when the door reeled back on the track a hooded figure stepped forwards. The man’s face was concealed. He wore the robes of a Jedi but darker. Obi-wan wished he could access the force to feel out whether this being meant to help or harm. Judging by the way they had strolled in so easily Obi-wan instinctively felt the man was there to harm. Why else did anyone visit him in this place?_ _

__Obi-wan sat in his terrified state unknowing of what might happen to him. Even amidst his determination to escape he had become too jaded to believe anyone was ever coming to his rescue. Or that anyone even cared at all._ _

__“Obi-wan Kenobi,” the man proclaimed, his voice tainted with curiosity and interest._ _

__His voice sounded familiar. Obi-wan knew he had heard it somewhere. If only the mind fog were any less dense he might have been able to place it._ _

__“I’ve come to take you away from this place.” The man spoke again, his words denoting a measure of authority and finality._ _

__Obi-wan’s heart dropped even further as his mind raced with panic. He must have been sold off, that’s what this was. Perhaps the man standing before him had been a patron of the facility. Someone who had tasted him before. Someone who was pleased enough by the product to purchase him outright._ _

__Obi-wan retreated on the med table pressing his back up against the wall as if it would save him from any assault or ill will the man before him might have harbored. He didn’t even know if this man had been inside of him, as so many others had. The thought twisted his stomach into knots as his heart crumbled into ash._ _

__The man stepped further into the room. Obi-wan thought to say something but couldn’t make a sound._ _

__“There’s no need to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” The figure said in a voice mixed with amusement and assertion._ _

__His words hit Obi-wan hard as he found himself suddenly gasping for air. Was it relief? No, he wasn’t quite ready to believe the mystery arrival even though he desperately wanted to. It couldn’t be true._ _

__The man stepped closer and Obi-wan flattened himself against the wall, wishing and hoping like he had in times past for the ability to escape. A gloss of fearful tears blurred his vision as he waited for something terrible._ _

__But nothing terrible happened._ _

__The man held out his hand keeping a respectful distance from Obi-wan. “Come now, on your feet.” The man said expectantly waiting for Obi-wan to let his guard down and accept help. “Unless you wish to stay and return to your work here?”_ _

__Without a word of question or protest, Obi-wan shifted to the edge of the med table hesitantly, careful to avoid the hand he had been offered while righting himself to stand. Leaving would present opportunities to escape and return to the council. Any action would be better than none, even if he didn’t trust the one who posed as rescuer._ _

__Shakily due to exhaustion mixed with elevated cortisol levels Obi-wan tried and failed to walk more than two steps before collapsing. He had become so tired from walking the perimeter of the room that he had no more energy left to spend._ _

__Quickly the hooded man moved in to help Obi-wan. But instead of getting him back on his feet he took him up in his arms. “Your strength should return soon enough after that poison they’ve been giving you is out of your system.” The man said as he quickly whisked him away._ _

__Obi-wan didn’t like accepting help, especially not anything so physical in nature from someone he still knew nothing about. But he found himself having little to say or offer in the exchange._ _

__Quickly the mysterious stranger had arrived at a shuttle. Presumably his own private transport. As soon as the two of them stepped aboard the pilot engaged the lifters. The haste of their departure made Obi-wan wonder to the legitimacy of his escape. Had he been sold, or stolen? Either way made little difference. He was still bound and determined to get to the council one way or another._ _

__The hooded man set Obi-wan down onto a seat and positioned himself across. “Why are you helping me?” Obi-wan croaked out, still afraid and mistrusting._ _

__“We can leave the questions for later. You won’t remember half of what we talk about anyways until that junk is out of your system. Though in the meantime,” the man trailed off, searching through the folds of his cloak to retrieve a small metallic patch. “I’ll just put this here for good measure,” he said, planting it on the side of Obi-wan’s neck._ _

__Seconds later Obi-wan felt an odd sensation. A warmth radiated from the spot the man had placed the patch, along with a slight tickle. Confused and still disoriented by the brain fog Obi-wan put his hand where the patch ought to have been. All he felt was his own skin._ _

__“What was that? What did you just do?” Obi-wan asked as he felt another bout of panic lance through his tattered frame._ _

__“What are you talking about?” The man said incredulously. “I didn’t do anything. Obi-wan, you’re very tired. Why don’t you go to sleep now?”_ _

__Suddenly and without reason, Obi-wan felt like that was very good idea. “I’m going… to sleep… now…” Obi-wan echoed back as he slumped over, his vision going dark._ _

__In the next moment or what seemed like it, the stranger was rousing him to wake. “Obi-wan, it’s time for us to switch modes of transportation. Up go you, follow me.” The man said as he stepped out of the transport and onto an aerial platform on the upper most level or Coruscant._ _

__Obi-wan turned to the direction of the temple. He could see the spires rising up in the near distance. His heart ached thinking Anakin might only be just out of reach. If only Master Yoda could hear his cry through the force. But he couldn’t feel the force like he usually would. He hadn’t been able to ever since Qui-gon had captured him in his escape attempt. His hopes and pleas were empty without the force to amplify them._ _

__“Hurry on, let’s get going.” The man said, waving after Obi-wan as he stumbled closer after him. Obi-wan’s heart filled with sadness. Though he vowed he would be back soon._ _

__“Where are you taking me?” Obi-wan said groggily, though loud enough for his voice to be heard over the sound of traffic as he followed after the man towards a small starship transport parked in the distance._ _

__“I’m taking you away from here. We can talk more later, time is of the essence, as they say.” The man said briskly as he strode towards the ship. This time as Obi-wan moved in pursuit he could feel the weakness in his body lessen, his strength slowly return._ _

__The two of them boarded the small ship as it took flight shortly after. The inside of the vessel wasn’t fancy though it wasn’t plain either. The furnishings spoke of moderate wealth though nothing overly substantial. The hooded man sat in the small flight passenger seating area looking out at the scene unfolding beyond the viewport. He motioned Obi-wan to come over and do the same._ _

__Though he still didn’t trust the man, Obi-wan did as was suggested. They sat in silence as the ship rose up into the atmosphere towards a larger vessel. It was what appeared to be a sizable yacht. As they approached the small hangar bay and touched down Obi-wan could tell just by the look of the hangar that this ship was much more lavish than the one they were currently in. Everything about it screamed insane wealth, more than entire planets held._ _

__“We’ve arrived,” the man announced as he got up, walking towards the exit of the small transport into the larger vessel._ _

__“Now if you follow me, you’ll find a shower and sleeper waiting for you.” He said as he exited the hangar, stepping aboard a hallway full of doors. Stopping at one, he keyed a code into the small pad beside it and it opened silently. Lights flickered on in the room as they stepped inside._ _

__For how the yacht looked it was nothing too extreme, though it was very accomodating. The sleeper was large, the floor was carpeted with thick plush rugs. The upholstery and bedspread were lavish in texture, though the colors were dark red and black. Not at all to Obi-wan’s liking. But he couldn’t complain about a hot shower and a warm bed even if he was still suspicious of the man._ _

__“I’ll leave you to it, then. Go ahead and get showered and rested. We’ll talk later.” The man said as he retreated, the door closing behind him. Obi-wan nearly couldn’t believe it as he looked about the room. So much had gone so wrong. For him to be whisked away by this stranger was absolutely out of the norm for him. No one had ever gone out of their way to help or save him without expecting something in return._ _

__Though Obi-wan was nearly certain the man would expect something in return soon enough. For now he would be able to put it out of mind. The promise of such simple creature comforts were more than enough to make him forget about everything else just for a moment._ _

__Obi-wan ventured over to the fresher attached to the dwelling and tore off his paper med gown. The feeling of being unclothed was uncomfortable, making his very core clench with dread. Though as he switched on the hot water and stepped into the shower his aversion lessened._ _

__It was wonderful, such a simple thing. Obi-wan stood in it and let the hot water scald his skin bringing circulation to the surface. Soap, such a wonderful invention. To smell of something other than the dinge and dirt of the facility he had just escaped from helped ease his restless spirit by a fraction._ _

__Obi-wan felt renewed as he stepped out onto the plush rug and sat on the sleeper. He was clean in a warm and comfortable bed. He had every reason to be grateful._ _

__Or at least he should have felt grateful. But in that moment of silence all he could feel was the anguish. The guilt. He shouldn’t be enjoying anything not even such simple allowances as a shower a warm bed. His mind was racked with regrets both old and new. The horror he had been so ready to reject and forget, the one he hadn’t allowed himself to think about for years now to be so violently rehashed. It was like a stain on his consciousness he couldn’t erase._ _

__How terribly he had disobeyed his master before. How dearly he had paid for it. Though apparently he hadn’t learned his lesson. In his new knighthood he thought he could save himself._ _

__He didn’t know what was worse, the thought of what had happened to him during his time at the last facility, or what had happened all those years ago. But his old trauma now suddenly seemed so fresh. The pain of it still echoed through his body, the memory of fearing for his life was foreign and somehow tormentingly familiar. It was only that he wanted to forget, but he couldn’t. How could he forget the feeling of certainty about one’s own mortality? The imminence of one’s own death?_ _

__He could still remember waking up in the halls of healing so many months after that horrible night on Nar Shaddaa. For a moment he didn’t believe he survived. His eyes blinked open to see one of the healers peering down at him with a sad yet happy smile._ _

__“Welcome back, Obi-wan,” the woman said with genuine gladness. “We’ve been wondering when you would come back to us.”_ _

__He could still recall how heavy his body felt as he sat up. How horrified and shocked he was to see his Master sitting at his bedside. Instantly his heart began to race, tears began to blur his vision._ _

__But the healer had it all wrong. “I’ll give you two a moment before the lead healer comes in. She’ll want to debrief you before she gives you the go ahead to check out. I’m sure you have much catching up to do.” She said, smiling with a false sense of knowing before she left Obi-wan alone with the one who had hurt him so badly._ _

__The man who was supposed to teach him and take care of him. Qui-gon, his Master walked over to him and sat near to him. There was a look on his face, one that Obi-wan didn’t think he had ever seen before. Was it sadness? Longing? It couldn’t have been. Surely he didn’t feel those sorts of things._ _

__Before Qui-gon could get a word in, the lead healer walked in. Obi-wan didn’t hide the tears that fell, he didn’t try to wipe them away._ _

__“Do you two need a moment?” The healer asked politely._ _

__“No, no need. Please, come in.” Qui-gon said as he sat poised on the edge of Obi-wan’s med sleeper._ _

__“Obi-wan, you were very extensively injured when your Master brought you in. You nearly didn’t make it. You should be very grateful he got to you just in time. This may not be the time for a lecture, but you ought to think twice before you go off on your own again.” The healer said in a gentle stern voice._ _

__Obi-wan’s core wrenched and a desperate anger roared in his belly. If only the healer knew. But they would never know. They couldn’t. Because in spite of their ignorance, there was still a warning to be heeded._ _

___Think twice before you go off on your own again._ _ _

__“I don’t think this is the appropriate time for such reprimands. My padawan has suffered more than enough for his mistakes.” Qui-gon said defensively, placing a hand on Obi-wan’s shoulder as he did._ _

__A cacophony of emotions swirled inside of Obi-wan at the contact. Anger, shame, coupled with the soothing effect any show of kindness from his Master incited. All of it made Obi-wan hate himself that much more._ _

__“Very well, my apologies. Anyway,” the healer continued, glancing to Obi-wan’s chart that they had pulled up on a datapad. “When you came in you had suffered multiple stab wounds and lacerations…” The healer began as they rattled off a long list of broken bones and internal injuries. With each addition to the list, Obi-wan felt his heart turn to acid and his body go numb._ _

__He sat there in shock, tears freely falling down his face from the news he was receiving. His tears turned to sobs quickly as the healer finished reciting the list of terrible things. All the things his Master had done to him._ _

__Obi-wan hugged his knees tightly to his chest to comfort himself, but it did little to help him feel any better. His master’s hand that had rested on his shoulder now felt too invasive. He wanted to kick and scream and tell the healer the truth of what really happened. None of it would change a thing. It was still all his fault._ _

__“After a routine exam, you should be fit to discharge if everything checks out.” The woman followed up, visibly awkward._ _

__“I think we’ll need a minute. Why don’t you come back in a little while.” Qui-gon suggested gently. With a nod, the healer agreed and curtly exited the room. Leaving Obi-wan alone with his Master, again._ _

__Qui-gon threw his arms around him and held him tightly while Obi-wan cried even harder. He was locked inside himself. He couldn’t say or do anything. He was helpless. He was in his Master’s care, for better or worse._ _

__Qui-gon put his lips to his Padawan’s ear and whispered softly, just as he had back in that room. “Don’t make me hurt you like that again.” He said simply as he ran his hand over Obi-wan’s hair, down to his braid that he took in his hand._ _

__And after that, everything changed. But really, nothing changed. Only Obi-wan had learned what he really was to his Master. He tried to keep from forming an attachment, tried to keep him distant. The hardest thing was to see the man for what he really was. Because how could he live with such a monster? How could he love him at the same time?_ _

__The answer was to blame himself. It was the only thing he knew how to do, and he did it well. But it hurt, everything hurt. He hated all of it. There was only one thing, one good thing and that was Anakin. It was his purpose to make sure no one ever hurt him. It was the only thing that mattered._ _

__But still the pain of his past haunted him as Obi-wan found he couldn’t stop the tears from overtaking him anymore. So he cried and cried, for himself, for the things he had been through. For Anakin, and the things he hoped he would never experience._ _

__Obi-wan cried until he had exhausted himself, and drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep, void of anything that might have haunted him. A sleep that he had badly needed._ _

__......._ _

__“Jaq!” the overdressed man announced with open arms as the thick durasteel door gave way to an overly lavish lounge on the other side. A handful of patrons mingled as they sipped on their drinks, reclining on the plush lounge chairs under the low lighting. Most of them were well disguised or partially veiled to conceal their true identities. Though already Vos had spotted a few familiar beings he knew he had seen in the senate. His stomach churned with disgust, repulsed by the high and mighty senators so willingly and enthusiastically taking advantage of the poor souls consigned to such a horrific establishment. If monsteres existed, he was sure he was surrounded by more than one in that room._ _

__“So good to meet you. Parsifal Tyyrn, at your service.” The man said, shaking Vos’s hand with a firm grip. “You’ve created quite the reputation for yourself in a rather short amount of time I might add.” He said happily as he guided Vos into the lounge. “I’m glad to finally put a face to the name!”_ _

__“Please have a drink or two, or five!” The man laughed heartily as Vos struggled to keep up with his jolly demeanor. It took every bit of self control for him not to strangle the man where he stood. But his mission depended on him playing his part. He had done just that for these past six months. He was sure he could keep on for the next hour or so, however long it took to find Obi-Wan._ _

__“Ah no, I think i’ll pass. I gave up drink a while ago.” Vos chuckled, perhaps not convincingly enough._ _

__The man’s expression dimmed. “Ah, well enough I suppose. Straight to business then?”_ _

__“Yes, if you don’t mind,” Vos said as pleasantly as he could as Parsifal guided him down the hall on the other side of the lounge._ _

__“Well why don’t you follow me, so I can present the menu for the evening,” the man said, his voice rife with sultry tones. Vos grinded his teeth, clenched his fists at his sides beneath the long sleeves of his robe. “Might I start by asking, if there is anything specific you are interested in?”_ _

__“Yes, actually,” Vos said, clearing his throat. “I would have to be living under a rock not to hear about the Jedi you’ve been in possession of. I’ve found myself quite curious. I’m willing to pay extra for some time with him.” He said adamantly, bolstering his words with the force._ _

__“Yes, the Jedi. He was quite a popular feature. I’m sorry to inform you he’s no longer here for us to offer. Were you only a day sooner, you would have been able to catch him before he was taken back.” The man said, still walking the length of the hall as Vos trailed behind._ _

__Inside of himself his heart raced as his mind ran wild. Obi-wan was here. Now he wasn’t. He was too late. Just barely too late. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he will be next, do you?” Vos said, hopefully._ _

__“One of his owners fetched him, the identity of which i’m not at liberty to share with you, of course.” The man said, stopping at one door, peering through the small window to see inside. “Though if its a force sensitive you’re after we do have a few of those. This one’s particularly strong. Feisty, too. Though you must understand our force sensitive stock must be kept sedated at all times to assure they don’t escape. They tend to be quite slippery while awake.” The man said with disdain towards the inconvenience._ _

__“You will tell me who took the Jedi. Who are his owners?” Vos growled as he came closer, towering intimidatingly over the pathetic man in front of him. He found himself long past playing any games at this point._ _

__“I-I can’t tell you that! Now step away from me at once! Of you’ll be dragged out by my staff and banned from this facility for life!” Parsifal said pitifully as he cowered._ _

__Vos took a fist of the man’s shirt and slammed his body against the wall. “You’ll tell me, whether you want to or not,” he said low as he closed his eyes, placing a hand at the man’s temple._ _

__Vos was immediately shocked by what was revealed to him. Everything he thought he knew, dissolved in his grasp._ _

__“Unhand me, Sir!” Parsifal shouted, shoving Vos back causing him to stumble a few steps. “You are to leave at once unless you want to be drug out!” He commanded, his terror stricken voice gaining more vehemence as Vos retreated._ _

__“Never come back here, understand? I don’t know who you think you are, _Jaq Hett,_ but your business on Coruscant is over. Black Sun is everywhere, and they will shut you down, mark my words.” The man said as she shakily straightened out his too-expensive suit that had crumpled under Vos’s grip. _ _

__Quinlan spun around heading for the exit, down the hallway that had too many doors, too many poor souls trapped inside. He wanted to save them all, to find Obi-wan. But today was not the day for it. And if he did try, his cover would be blown. Obi-wan would be gone forever. But now at least he had a lead. Something he didn’t have before. Now he knew the man he had to find._ _


	13. Sith

Anakin sat at the opposite end of the transport from his Master, Qui-gon Jinn. The last few months had been trying to say the least. It was hard to get used to being a Padawan. Even more so since Anakin had no recollection of ever leaving his Mother behind on Tatooine. Perhaps if he had the chance to say goodbye he might have felt better, though he doubted it. 

Maybe if his Master had ever been less cold with him it would have been easier. His days were mostly composed of training- both the physical and scholastic type. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite please his Master. As time progressed, the young Padawan wondered if it related to his progress as a student at all, or if there was something else. Something missing in the man that he couldn’t quite place. Of course from Anakin’s limited perspective, however observant he may have been, his experience or lack thereof, held him back from fully understanding. 

All the same he was elated at the perspective of becoming a Jedi Knight. He would lay in bed at night and dream of all the things he might be able to do, all the people he could help once he was powerful enough. He would free all the slaves in the entire galaxy once and for all. He would give his Mother the same freedom he was given, along with all his childhood friends that were cursed with the title of slave as well. 

But Qui-gon told him that all of it stood as distraction, that he ought to focus on himself in the moment, and none else. So Anakin learned to close himself off from his Master, to stay quiet lest he be sternly reprimanded in ways that left him feeling worthless after the fact. His Master was quite harsh with words most days, not giving out many kind ones ever. 

His Master was also a man of mystery. He would often go galavanting out at night, away from the temple. Anakin could tell Qui-gon tried to keep it secret from him, because when he would leave at night he was always careful to stay quiet, and never spoke of his activities when he would leave. He would come back at the early hours of the morning, smelling of the lower levels of Coruscant, or what Anakin thought they must smell like. He had never recalled venturing there himself though he found the odor vaguely familiar. 

All in all, he had a hard time connecting with his Master. At times he could tell Qui-gon would make efforts to be less harsh with him, and even try to coax a dialogue out of him. It all felt very forced and not authentic, which always made Anakin reluctant to open up. 

But times like now, sitting in the transport down to the surface of Ilum, he felt his Master’s restlessness around him like a dark angry cloud. Qui-gon’s calm mask only made Anakin that much more wary. Whenever he put on a show of kindness, Anakin tended to regret anything he might open up with. His Master had an uncanny way of becoming rather volatile very quickly if he were to say the wrong thing. 

“Have you brought the saber hilt you’ve been working on?” Qui-gon asked conversationally, his long gray hair swaying as the transport tilted to and fro. 

“Yes, Master.” Anakin answered submissively. 

“Did you make the changes I suggested?” He asked expectantly. 

Anakin knew there was only one correct response, and it was not the one he could honestly give. “No, Master. I tried the configuration you talked about, but it just didn’t feel right.” 

In response Anakin could feel his Master’s aura bristle with discontent. “I see.” Qui-gon grumbled, though to Anakin’s surprise, his Master suppressed his urge to spew more displeasure. “You can try to reconfigure it again, once you’ve gotten your kyber crystal. It will change the feel of your hilt.” 

“Yes, Master.” Anakin answered, grateful to not be under a barrage of harsh comments as he might have usually been subject to. 

“Well here we are,” Qui-gon said as the transport settled down at the bottom of a sheer icy cliff, the top of which was at least 90 meters beyond where they landed. Anakin got up and followed his Master out of the transport, their climbing gear in hand. The wind blew harshly against the fluff of his exposure jacket where the fur rimmed his face. His goggles anchored tightly in place by the rubber band that wrapped around his head, pulling on his hair as he looked up at the cliff with wonder. 

Shmi would never have willingly let him engage in such dangerous activities, though Anakin felt exhilarated by the thought of scaling the wall before them. He always had a taste for danger, maybe even a love of it. It wasn’t so much the danger itself that excited him, but the feel of living in such a crucial moment. There was no greater clarity he could achieve than in moments such as those. 

Anakin and his Master scaled the wall in silence, only the sound other than the wind and the clink and chip of their pick axes gaining purchase through the brittle icy surface being their own labored breaths. 

Time was lost to Anakin as he scaled the wall, keeping up good pace beside his Master. He sensed Qui-gon felt some gratification that Anakin could keep up with him, and it did give the Padawan a degree of happiness to know he could make his Master happy at all. It was not a common occurrence. 

By the time the reached the top, the sun was high in the sky, nearly midday. “Alright, it’s time for you to go and find your crystal.” Qui-gon declared. 

Anakin paused, confused and slightly burdened by staring down the dark hallway that led into the temple. “Aren’t you coming with me?” Anakin asked, feeling a tinge of childish fear that he immediately tried to quash. 

“No. What lies beyond is for you, and you alone.” Qui-gon said irritably, clearly picking up on the fear in the boy’s voice. 

Anakin took a few steps into the long dark hallway, and turned to look back. “But Master, how will I know when I find my crystal?” He stepped out further in search of the man, but found nothing. It appeared Qui-gon had vanished. “Master?” Anakin asked, this time not even trying to hide the fear in his cadence. But Qui-gon was nowhere to be found. 

With a deep breath, Anakin turned back to walk down the dark corridor. He reached out to the force around him, feeling his way through its gentle guidance. 

…….

Obi-wan rustled awake under the thick plush blankets and the fresh clean sheets that were now warmed with his body heat. In the very next instant he startled to awareness, stretching out his senses to understand where he was and what had transpired. He could see the modern style of his surroundings, the room the man had guided him to in order for him to find some respite. That much he had received. But as he kept on trying to reach out with the force, he found nothing to answer his call. He felt like he existed in a void of life. Where his connection to the force should have been was an empty hole instead. 

His heart quickened. Everything about the day before felt blurred and distant. The figure he couldn’t name, the face of which he had never seen, haunted him. The voice had been familiar, but even now that his brain fog had lifted, he still couldn’t place it. Though with a certain amount of dread, he suspected he would be meeting the man again, very soon. 

Obi-wan got up and looked around the room for a fresh set of clothes. He had none of his own to change into, and he most certainly wasn’t about to change back into the paper med gown he had torn off of himself. He didn’t want to even look at it. It was a harrowing reminder of the place he had just escaped from, if you could call it an escape. 

He had been allowed to leave. The circumstances of which still remained unknown. Even without the force to guide him, Obi-wan had a bad feeling about it. 

After searching the closet and drawers of the room, Obi-wan came upon a set of clothes that he had haphazardly missed, that had been set on the stool at the foot of his bed. Although he didn’t remember much from the day before, he didn’t recall the clothes sitting there for him. That meant someone had come in while he was sleeping, while he was unclothed beneath the covers. 

Obi-wan thought about it. He never remembered climbing under the covers. Whoever had brought him the clothes must have covered him up. The thought made his skin crawl with disgust. 

Hastily, Obi-wan clothed himself with the provided garments. Feeling himself fully covered was a relief. They were simple enough, a pair of black pants matched with a black undershirt and tunic and cloak. Very much like the robes he would wear at the temple, only the wrong color. 

Nearly the second after he was fully dressed, the door to his quarters whirred open revealing a quaint protocol droid behind it.

“I am N1, pleased to make your acquaintance. I do hope you slept well, you were asleep for quite a long time. If you will oblige, my Master requests your presence in the dining hall.” The droid spoke eloquently, as was expected of a protocol droid. 

“Your Master?” Obi-wan spoke under his breath with a furrowed brow. “Who is your Master?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question,” the droid spoke as the restraining bolt on its chest blinked a string of code.

Obi-wan sighed, both feeling frustrated and fearful. Whoever the man was, he wouldn’t even allow a droid to learn his name. “Nevermind,” he said, his eyes flitting about the hallway beyond. 

“I shall take you to the dining hall now, follow me,” the droid prattled and turned. Obi-wan hesitantly and reluctantly followed. He could feel his pulse quicken and his palms become damp as he tread through the hall of the ship. There was an imminence in the air not unlike what he would feel before Qui-gon would hurt him. It was the knowledge of something unpleasant, but for the most part it was the existence of the unknown that loomed before him that troubled him. 

He tried to hide the fear from reaching his face as he walked through the door into the modestly sized dining hall. It was rather exquisite for the galley of a ship, even for a luxury yacht. But like all else on the ship it spoke of minimalist principals, yet equally of immense wealth. 

The man sat at the head of a long table, a meal set before him, his face still mostly hidden. Obi-wan was guided to sit at the other end of the table. There was an assortment of different dishes, all of them exotic in nature and expensive. Obi-wan took a seat, immediately tormented by the smell of the food before him. He was famished. He had lost an immense amount of weight during captivity, and couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten.

But he didn’t know this man, and he was almost certain he couldn’t trust him. He didn’t think he could trust anybody. With a certain amount of effort, he restrained himself from diving into the food set before him. 

“I trust you slept well?” The man asked, his voice ever familiar. It ragged on the back of Obi-wan’s mind. Why couldn’t he place it?

“Yes, thank you.” Obi-wan answered carefully in a measured tone. 

“It’s my pleasure,” the man answered in a suggestive tone. Obi-wan’s stomach flipped and churned as a righteous anger sparked at his core. 

“Who are you?” Obi-wan suddenly demanded, feeling his patience grow thin. He felt a surge of will rise up in his veins that he had no explanation for. He didn’t trust this man, he was nearly certain he meant him harm. Why wasn’t he more afraid? 

Not that he wasn’t afraid. But it was secondary to the growing anger that coiled at the base of his spine. The man before him chuckled heartily. “Questions, questions. So demanding. Do you think you’re in a position to be making demands?” He added cooly. 

Obi-wan’s anger dampened as a wave of fear pushed over his senses. He took a breath to quell the trained physical reaction in response to such situations. “I want to know who you are, and why you freed me.” Obi-wan said in a calmer manner. Decisive yet more asking. 

The man smiled. “Would you rather I left you there? I could take you back, if you prefer.” His words were caustic, his intent even more so. 

Obi-wan swallowed hard. Just the thought put to words made his skin crawl. “My questions are completely reasonable.” He wouldn’t validate the man’s threat, he wouldn’t give him undue power over himself. 

“I see. Yes, I suppose they are, aren’t they? So straight to the point.” The man smiled again. In answer he lifted his hands to pull back the edge of his hood, revealing his face. 

His jaw was angular, his cheekbones high and his brows dark and thick, set above his almond shaped eyes and wide set nose. The dark black hair fell straight around his face. It was long, like his Master’s. He looked familiar. A name from the back of Obi-wan’s mind came forward. 

“Master Dyas?” Obi-wan asked, feeling himself fall into a world of confusion. 

Sifo Dyas used to be the lead member of the Jedi council, before his ideas were deemed too extreme. He was pronounced dead only weeks before he and Qui-gon had found Anakin on Tatooine. But even before that, he had not been seen around the temple for quite some time. It was him, but his eyes were all wrong.

Dyas sneered at the use of the name. “No.” Then he smiled. “You can refer to me as Darth Novus.” His smile darkened. “If that doesn’t suit you, just call me Master, as Qui-gon does.” 

Obi-wan felt a jolt of untamable fear through his chest. His mind reeled in horror as too many connections came to life in his mind. The reality was so much worse than he could have ever hoped to imagine as two molten gold eyes stared back at him, thoroughly entertained. 

“You’re going to kill me,” Obi-wan thought aloud. If only he could reach the force, not that it would do him much good against a Sith Lord. Obi-wan pressed his fingers against the skin of his neck where he vaguely remembered Dyas placing a patch the day before. It was obvious to him now he had been implanted with a subdermal inhibitor to make him more manageable. They were outrageously expensive to produce, even more to procure. They weren’t reusable, so perhaps death wasn’t what he had in mind.

Then Dyas confessed. “To be honest, I haven’t quite decided yet.” He said conversationally, as if the topic might have been something as casual as what cloak to wear, or what to have for dinner. “You have been nothing but trouble for me from the very start, believe it or not. Especially this last time, running away from the temple, nearly blowing the cover of my apprentice. Unacceptable.” Dyas mused. 

Obi-wan didn’t want to believe it, but so much made sense. In light of new understanding, it made getting back to Anakin so much more urgent. Obi-wan had been the toy of a Sith, it made him sick to think about. It made his knighthood even more of a sham that it ever had been to begin with. The only thing his life was good for was rescuing that boy from the clutches of evil. And that much, he was determined to do. 

“Pravus tried to reassure me that he had you under his control, that you wouldn’t disobey him again after I had him lease you to Black Sun, that you would have learned your lesson. I had my doubts. I wanted him to kill you a long time ago, I even tried to order him to do it. Needless to say he refused. Your life was the cost of his apprenticeship, he said.” Dyas said, visibly disgruntled though little of it bled into his voice.

Obi-wan’s mind reeled, thinking his Master put such a high price on his life, on his ownership. Part of him didn’t believe it, another part felt elated that his Master had put so much on the line on his behalf. His Master had to have loved him, even if only a fraction. Even if only as possession. He reveled in it, and was equally disgusted by himself for feeling that way at all.

Another part of his mind told him that none of it mattered, that Qui-gon was Sith. Even worse was how he had been so desecrated by a Sith, infested with darkness. How could he ever hope to become a Jedi? How could he ever truly be a Jedi Knight after being so used by the darkness? He could never, not when such a significant part of him was still helplessly gratified by the knowledge of how much his Master sacrificed for him. 

Willfully oblivious to his stupified state, Dyas continued. “I wish I didn’t need Pravus, but I do. So I complied with his demands to spare your life; to let him keep you.” He sneered, disgusted.

“Qui-gon is indeed, gifted in the Dark Side. There are no other viable alternatives at the moment. Though soon, there will be another. The Chosen One. He is the Chosen One, afterall.” Dyas said with dark satisfaction. 

Obi-wan’s heart slammed harder in his chest. All the more reason to get Anakin away from the influence of the Sith. He only hoped the boy could hold out until he could get to him. He would, if it was the last thing he did. Beyond all the conflicting emotions that stirred in his chest and filled his mind, Anakin was the only thing that truly mattered. 

Dyas smiled at his reaction, sensing Obi-wan’s fear. “Oh yes, you do care for the boy, don’t you? Now more than ever you would want to save him. Such a helplessly noble heart you have.” He said in an unimpressed tone as he rose up from the table and sauntered over towards him. 

“You know, all this time I’ve wondered, what is it about you that is so _damn_ special that he would put everything we’ve worked for on the line. He would sacrifice everything, for _you_.” Dyas frowned on the edge of spite with the curl of a snarl on his lip.

Obi-wan tried to keep himself from hearing those words over and over in his mind. _He would sacrifice everything, for you._ Sweet, impossibly delicious words. Even after everything his Master had put him through, everything he had done. It seemed like a reward. The knowledge that he did indeed, love him in some way. 

But Obi-wan knew better than to let himself get so swept up in the sentiment. He hated himself for caring so much, for being so taken by those words. He couldn’t let himself, but he couldn’t help but feel swept off his feet. He was sickened by himself for it all at the same time. 

Dyas came up closer, standing only a few inches from where Obi-wan sat, frozen in his chair. “Oh the things he must have done to you,” Dyas mumbled as he reached out to thumb the edge of Obi-wan’s jaw. “He is a violent, passionate man.” He mused, searching Obi-wan’s face for an answer, a reason as he rummaged through his mind. Not nearly as painful and invasive as when Qui-gon would push through his mental shielding, but not pleasant, either. 

“And you,” Dyas said, his brow furrowed. “You’re like a pool of clear, blue water. Pure. Gentle. After _everything_ he’s done.” He said, surprised.

Then the Sith gasped. “You _love_ him. You poor soul.” Dyas said with pity before his voice grew more insistent. 

“But there’s more. There has to be more. I _will_ find out what the root of his obsession is with you. I suspect it stems from something a little more... _physical_ in nature.” The Sith said with a maleficent, yet sultry smile. “I’ll just have to find out for myself, won’t I?”

Obi-wan’s stomach lurched at the thought as his body twitched away from where Dyas stood. The righteous anger he felt before transmuted to an all consuming panic. Dyas made a disappointed sound. 

“Breathe, relax. I’m not the violent man your Master is, I don’t want an unwilling participant.” Dyas said, exasperated. 

Obi-wan’s brows furrowed with confusion as he stood, taking a step away from the Sith that stood before him. “I’ll never be a willing participant in anything with you,” Obi-wan said with certainty. 

“Are you so sure?” Dyas said slyly, reaching out a hand to caress the side of Obi-wan’s face, which he pulled away from. 

“Positive.” Obi-wan said irritably, another wave of fear rising up as he began to wonder what the Sith’s angle was. Clearly there was something he was missing. 

Dyas just smiled. He stepped closer and spoke in a whisper close to Obi-wan’s ear. “When I do fuck you, you’ll have begged me for it first.” 

Obi-wan pulled back sharply from Dyas’s lips that grazed his ear as he spoke and shuddered. “That’s never going to happen.” Obi-wan insisted again, his body trembling involuntarily. 

“Well in the meantime, you should regain some of your strength.” Dyas said in a more casual, friendly tone. Obi-wan eyed the dishes in front of him with a measure of skepticism. 

Dyas laughed. “It's not poisoned, I promise.” Promptly he took a fork and dug into one of the dishes, taking a bite for himself, chewing, and swallowing. “See? It’s safe.” 

Feeling confident enough that at least one dish was okay to eat, Obi-wan sat down and began to eat slowly. It had been a long time since he had eaten anything, and his stomach had nearly forgotten how to digest food. Dyas poured him a glass of water and set it by his plate. Yet again, Obi-wan eyed it with an amount of aversion. 

Dyas brought the glass to his lips and took a sip, setting it back down by his plate. “Satisfied i’m not trying to poison you?” He said with a smile. 

Obi-wan took the glass and sipped some water, instantly it soothed his stomach ache. Though he still eyed the Sith with disdain. He would never trust the man, he certainly had ulterior motives. Some of which he had been blatantly open about. All the same, Obi-wan needed food and water if he were to get stronger and leave this place. 

…….

The moment Anakin began his trek through the icy crystal caves he began to understand why the impossible labyrinth was called a temple. Because to the eye, it most certainly did not present as a temple at all. For all that it lacked, the caves were steeped in the light. It illuminated everything in its walls from within. Not in the visible sense, but in the way the force was so… _alive._

Of course life was an essential part of the force- the living force. Anakin had been training to learn how to commune with it to transcend himself to the reaches beyond the limits of his physical form. He had been taught of its magnificence. He had even witnessed its power to an extent. For all he had seen and learned in such a short time, he had never felt such a strong overwhelming connection to it all, as he did now. 

The caves hummed with life, with energy that buzzed in the air, tickling his lungs as he breathed. There were the faintest traces of whispers that seemed to call him deeper into the caverns. Had he been concerned with keeping track of his location, he might have began to feel afraid. But he was at peace, in the depths of a calm that was rarely experienced. 

As he drew closer to where the whispers seemed to originate from, the air began to grow to a stillness. There was a single gentle voice that began to come into focus from the cacophony of near silent iterations. And it called to him. 

_Anakin._

“Hello?” The boy replied, straining his eyes and ears to the best of his ability as he traversed the hollowed out passages. The walls danced in the most marvelous ways as waves of energy pulsed through them. Kyber, too many pieces to number, sparkled and glittered all around. All of them amplifying the voice that called him, pulling him deeper even still. 

_Anakin,_ the voice whispered. Somehow there was an urgency in the voice that the boy felt at his core. It was calm and centered, yet calling him to action. He could feel himself on the verge of so many things. Discovery, transcendance, the birth of a new path. The calling to forgotten things, something just out of his scope of awareness. Something he had forgotten that his mind worked so hard to remember. 

What was it that he couldn’t remember? Something important, he could feel it. Still, the voice chanted his name. It was a soft, masculine voice that seemed kind, somehow even familiar. 

But all of a sudden the voice was silenced, deadened by a veil of darkness that descended on him from all around, swallowing up all light that trickled through the crystal walls. It muted the air, as he called out again for the man who was beckoning him, it were as if he spoke into a vacuum with no trace of any utterance to be heard. 

It began to feel cold, very cold. The likes of which he had never experienced. It was more than a bone chill. It steeped into the fabric of his being, into the essence of his soul. It was the pit of a hopeless desolate place, something he hadn’t ever recalled ever feeling before. Not once in all his years of living as a slave had he ever felt so wretched. But the feel of it permeated the air around him, turning every bit of light into an equally harrowing darkness. 

In the heart of the cavern in which Anakin stood, a form appeared before his eyes. A dark hooded figure, the face of which obscured by the black cloak they were shroud in. Though the frame of the being looked familiar. Anakin could see long silver hair falling past the mouth of the figure’s hood. 

“Master?” Anakin asked hesitantly. The being stepped forwards, slowly revealing their face to him. 

Qui-gon looked back at him, with eyes a terrible acrid yellow. A haunting sneer written across his face that spoke of disgust. Another being appeared at Qui-gon’s side, hooded as Anakin’s Master had once been. The shape of this being was not familiar at all, nor did he reveal his identity. 

As if to bring the boy near to him, Jinn reached out a hand towards Anakin. To his horror, it was covered in crimson blood that spread outwards, up Jinn’s arm drenching his robe. Gasping, Anakin recoiled, tripping and stumbling, falling onto his back. 

A look of outrage flashed across Qui-gon’s face. The figure beside him stood as observer as Jinn reached for his saber, igniting it quickly as he lunged forwards, lashing out at Anakin. The red of the blade flickered and danced wildly against the crystal walls of the cave, making the entirety of the cavern glow with a deadly crimson light. 

With nothing to defend himself with, Anakin held his arms out against his Master. He could see the red bar of energy swing at him. The light of the blade swept through his frame, sizzling and clashing against his flesh. Anakin cried out in surprise from the strike, but even more puzzling was how he felt no pain where the blade might have sliced through his flesh. He looked down at his body, seeing not even his clothes had been scathed by his Master’s blade. 

Looking back up to where Qui-gon had stood beside the mysterious figure, now stood another man instead, the dark figure along with his Master nowhere to be found. He wore the robes of a Jedi. His hair was short, nearly the cut of a Padawan yet he had no braid. His eyes shone like bright blue jewels, clear and honest. 

Something about his presence told Anakin the man was to be trusted. He felt safe before him, at ease in a way that he would never feel with his own Master. But as much as his essence was a tranquil one, there was a desperation to his eyes. Something wild and urgent. 

With an outstretched upturned palm, the man presented Anakin with a sizable kyber crystal. It shone with the slightest blue corona, outlining the prisms within the stone. In a way, it almost mirrored the eyes of the man that stood before him. Anakin’s stomach churned with an anxiousness as he slowly rose up to his feet and approached the man. 

The crystal called to him, it was almost magnetic. He could feel its energy pulse through his body as he neared it, he could sense his own self reflected back at him in it’s structure. And there was something else, something that seemed a part of him as well, but fractured. Something missing, now found. 

Anakin reached out to take the piece of kyber from the man’s hand. There was a sense of relief in the man’s eyes as he took it, like a burden lifted. Like a cry for help answered. In the next moment a rush of memories in flashes of places, sounds and people filled his senses. 

Like a piece of himself being reunited with the whole, Anakin remembered everything. He remembered leaving Tatooine, saying goodbye to his mother. The final sweet embrace she gave him before he took leave of the planet for good. The remembrance of it filled a hole in his soul. A memento of his past finally resting peacefully in his heart. 

But there were so many other things. The joy of being accepted as Padawan. Obi-wan, he remembered Obi-wan. How he had felt so connected with him, more than he ever could with Qui-gon. 

Qui-gon and all the passive cruel things he would say or do, none of them overtly terrible. But there was a quality to the man’s aura that couldn’t be placed with anything good or of the light. 

No, there was something wrong, terribly wrong. Qui-gon had lied to him about Obi-wan. He had never turned to the dark, had never been so jealous. Obi-wan had whisked him away that night into the alleys of Coruscant below to remove that anklet that he had been saddled with. 

The functions of it were mostly unknown to Anakin, but he had seen enough to know a sign of ownership when he saw it. There were many slaves, higher end pleasure slaves that would be fitted with custom anklets and wrist binders that both served as restraints and adornment. A veil to hide the more sinister nature of buying and trading sentient souls as goods to be had and disposed of. 

But something had gone wrong that night. Anakin remembered falling, and then nothing. The boy's focus returned to the moment where Obi-wan still stood before him. There was a sad look of understanding in the man’s eyes as his form slowly dissolved into the air, the crystals of the cavern glistening and sparkling fiercely as he disappeared. 

Anakin looked down at the crystal he held in his palm with a sense of responsibility and haste. He needed to find Obi-wan quickly. Qui-gon was not to be trusted, even more so than his instinct could have ever told him. He needed to get back to the temple, to speak with Master Yoda. He would know what to do. 

…….

Obi-wan and Dyas finished their meal in a loaded silence before Obi-wan was dismissed back to his quarters. Dyas had made it clear that he had free roam of the ship if he liked, but Obi-wan opted for isolation instead. It was obvious that the Sith was assured that there was no chance for Obi-wan to escape. Dyas was assured of many things that Obi-wan had no understanding as to why he was so certain, which made Obi-wan uneasy. 

He needed time to think, to clear his mind. He had to stay objective. Rescuing Anakin was the only thing that mattered, and he needed to act fast. But it was hard to focus on that when his mind was swimming with so many things. The first of which were his Master’s supposed true feelings towards him, which held entirely too much weight in his heart. 

Though all too soon his mind was preoccupied with other things, things that surprised him to be struggling with at all. He wanted to stay objective, he needed to stay objective, but he couldn’t. His body was distracting him. Somehow Dyas did it, dosed him with something, influenced him in some way. All the practice and meditation in the galaxy wasn’t going to help him now.

His cock was swollen, pulsing, aching to be touched. He longed to be filled with the girth of a man inside of him, hot, slick, wet. His skin was sensitive, it was difficult to resist the urge of even brushing his own fingertips across his chest and stomach. 

Feeling the tickling trace of rough skin on his body was erotic, making his carnal urges grow to become ravenous. He had never felt so needy in his life, never had been given so easily to such urges.

Even when he would touch himself, he had never been so desperate as he was now. There had been times where his Master had used him and left him aching in want. Obi-wan would never implore Qui-gon for such things. Just the thought of it made him feel cheap and dirty. His Master almost certainly knew the state he would leave him in. Similar to how Obi-wan felt now, but not nearly so intense. 

At times such as those, Obi-wan would stroke himself to orgasm, straining to remain silent for fear his Master might hear. But now Obi-wan thought about how his Master must have known how he would touch himself all those times when he left him unfulfilled. Those nights he would close his eyes and imagine his Master pleasuring him some way. He would feel the hot seed the man had put inside him with a gratification that pushed him closer to orgasm. 

He wondered if his Master could feel those thoughts, if he wanted him to fantasize about him in those ways. The more he thought about it, the more he knew for certain. Qui-gon had to of known. In some twisted way, it made him more desperate for his Master now than he would ever admit. 

But he strained to lay still on the sleeper, he willed his limbs not to move. But even as his chest rose and fell with his breath, his nipples rubbed the fabric of his clothes sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He could feel the wetness of precum on his undergarments. He resisted being so focused on the physical realm, but had no access to the force to take him away from any of it.

With a few tears of frustration falling from his eyes, he reached down under his trousers for his straining erection. At first contact he let out an involuntary cry of pleasure. The strength of sensation was helplessly strong and overwhelming. 

With bated breath he worked himself quickly, straining to keep his Master from his mind as he chased orgasm. Mostly he just wanted to get it over with. In physical release he could return to a more neutral state. 

Only a few short moments later, Orgasm hit him in a tumultuous wave as his body trembled, a few strangled cries escaping him in its intensity before the pleasure waned. To his horror, the need returned just as quickly, worse than it had been before he had pleasured himself. 

The desperation, the need to have someone inside of him filled his mind even more than before. Without a thought he gripped around his member again, stroking his shaft towards another orgasm which he quickly crested. This time his need became even greater than before. 

Tears of frustration and fear beaded in his eyes. He felt out of control of his body, he needed something he couldn’t provide himself. His heart dropped as he remembered Dyas’s words, that he would make him beg for it. It made him feel pathetic. But he couldn’t help it, his body was screaming. 

Obi-wan reached down further, feeling the taut muscle of his entrance. Applying the slightest pressure made him writhe, he needed more. He pressed two fingers inside, finding a spot that made him swell with delicious pleasure, and continued to stimulate himself. He was panting, mewling, chasing orgasm with even more desperation than before. He could feel himself contract around his fingers tightly as he came, hoping that this time he would feel some relief, that the need would go away. 

And it subsided for a moment, then returned in full force. Obi-wan’s stomach sank with dread as he forced himself to rise from the sleeper, his body on fire with arousal that he couldn’t handle. He ripped off his clothes as he rushed over towards the fresher, shakily turing the shower on and stepping inside. 

Tears slid down his face, indistinguishable from the water that trickled down his trembling form. He felt trapped by his sensations as his body yearned for more attention, cried out to be touched and used. He hated the way it consumed his thoughts. Maybe if he could reach out and touch the force, he could find a measure of relief. But that was only speculation, and no use to him now in the moment. 

Now, as he heard the door to the fresher open while a man walked towards him. A man with beautifully tan skin and horrifically golden eyes that somehow seemed to be beautiful as well. Obi-wan’s eyes wandered over Dyas’s naked body that stood before him. He hated the smug expression on the man’s face. He hated how alluring his body became to him, how his girth seemed impressive, how he ached for him. 

Slowly, the Sith stepped into the shower. Obi-wan stepped back, pressing his shoulders against the wall. He didn’t want to allow Dyas to touch him. He didn’t think he could hold out against anything the man might try. 

Dyas’s eyes burned right through him, searing his flesh where they wandered. A single hand touched to Obi-wan’s chest, grazing his nipples and brushing down his torso. Obi-wan let out a strangled moan at the contact as he focused all his concentration to still his hips from bucking in response. 

He closed his eyes, but the hand didn’t stop. It wandered down lower, teasing his engorged tip sending jolts of pleasure through his body.

“No,” Obi-wan plead, his voice sounding desperate and needy. 

“No?” Dyas said with surprise. A desperate pang of desire danced through Obi-wan’s body in response, nearly sending him to his knees. 

“Please,” Obi-wan cried out. _Please make it stop I can’t stand it._

“Please?” Dyas said in a curious voice as he stepped closer, gently turning Obi-wan to face the shower wall as he gently slid a hand down his flank, stopping to grip at his ass. Obi-wan tried to stop himself from arching his back, he tried to stop the small gasp that fell from his lips, but he couldn’t. 

The Sith began to gently rub over his entrance. Obi-wan’s body tensed, trembling with pleasure. He wanted to be filled, to be fucked and used. Gently a finger probed inside, slicked with lubricant that Dyas was covering himself with, liberally covering Obi-wan with it as well. It took every bit of self control to keep him from getting down on all fours and presenting himself shamelessly to be taken. 

The probing finger became two fingers, which quickly found a delicious spot that made Obi-wan cry out with pleasure. He could feel his back arch ever so slightly as he fought the urge. A barrage of images entered Obi-wan’s mind forcibly as the Sith gently worked him. Pictures of all the things the man wanted to do to him, how good it would feel. Obi-wan felt himself clamp around the man’s fingers with want as pleasure surged through his cock. 

“ _Don’t,_ ” Obi-wan gasped in panic. 

The Sith began to withdraw from him slowly, pulling slicked fingers out of him. “Don’t what?” Dyas said with a tinge of amusement. 

At the loss of sensation Obi-wan’s body ached and complained, wanting more. He couldn’t hold out any longer “ _Don’t stop,_ ” Obi-wan cried out as his heart wrenched. 

Satisfied by Obi-wan’s degrading state, Dyas pushed his fingers inside again, three this time as he rewarded him with another taste of pleasure. Obi-wan’s knees felt weak as he pressed his face against the shower wall, his hands splayed out in support as he presented himself for more easy access. He hated it, hated all of it. But he wasn’t strong enough to withstand anymore torture. 

“Mm,” The Sith grunted approvingly, feeling the thick band of muscle quiver around his fingers. Obi-wan was so close, hovering on the edge of another orgasm. This one better, brighter, so much stronger than the last. He was on fire with sensation, no longer trying to still his hips as he fucked himself on the Sith’s fingers in short thrusts. 

But Dyas withdrew again, leaving Obi-wan empty, pulsing, the crest of his pleasure waning into an intense longing. Within it all was an equally intense self hatred. A loathing of his weaknesses, of his very own flesh. He should have been better than this, A Jedi would have been strong enough. 

But he wasn’t a Jedi, he was merely the plaything of a Sith. It was fitting he should be used like this, but it made his heart ache and crumble even as he felt himself on the edge of begging. He wanted it all to be over, but his body yearned, refusing to be silenced. Whatever substance pulsed through his veins had overridden any agency he might have had over his senses. 

Dyas took his wrists, pinning them to the shower wall above his head as he slammed his body against Obi-wan’s, grinding his hard cock against his ass. Obi-wan loathed how his hips pressed against the man with intention, grinding against the thick girth that he wanted to feel so badly inside of him. 

“Just let go, you don't have to try so hard,” Dyas said, his voice sultry and sweet like velvet. Obi-wan’s heart slammed against his ribs. He wished he could fight harder, instead his mind was near blank with the promise of pleasure. All he could feel was the pulsing, engorged tip prod at his entrance, slowly pressing inside him. Obi-wan felt his back arch to allow the man inside with ease. 

Dyas gasped with surprise as he slid in further, until he was buried inside. Obi-wan’s legs began to tremble, nearly failing him as the Sith pulled out and pushed inside again, purposefully paying attention to just the right spot to make Obi-wan cry out. 

And he did, shamelessly gasp and moan, letting the man know just what he needed and where he needed him. His chest sparked with excitement as he heard the man’s sybaritic grunts punctuate each thrust as his cock hardened inside him, throbbing and pulsing. 

As Obi-wan’s legs began to grow even weaker with approaching orgasm, Dyas hastily spun him around, slamming his back against the shower wall and hoisting his legs up to grip around his waist. Obi-wan assumed the given position as the man slammed into him again rather violently this time. 

The aggression felt right, warranted, as Obi-wan drank in the sensation of being used so savagely. He could feel the man’s arms around him, gripping him as he fucked him senselessly. He could see the notes of unmatched pleasure in the man’s facial expressions, could feel it in the tremor of the man’s limbs. 

He wanted to touch himself, but resisted the urge as he always did while being used. Instead he held onto Dyas with an equally shaky grip, feeling the man’s muscled form slam against his body with a satisfaction that was met with an equal amount of shame. 

Dyas’s grunts became more feral as he began to crest. Obi-wan repositioned his arms to grip around the man’s shoulders as his thrusts became short and fast. The Sith was rapidly pumping inside of him expertly, hitting his prostate with delicious accuracy that quickly pushed Obi-wan towards climax. 

“Oh fuck,” the Sith moaned, “You’re so tight,” he cooed, plateauing before the rush of orgasm pushed over the man’s senses. The words were high praise that Obi-wan relished, then immediately felt disgusted by himself for feeling so elated at all. 

But it felt right to have someone thick, wet, spilling deep inside. As the Sith came, his girth pulsing and throbbing, Obi-wan came quickly after. The semen that slicked his abdomen was quickly washed away by the stream of water that still poured over the both of them. 

A wave of relief fell over Obi-wan as he climaxed, feeling his need abate. As the ravenous desire that had consumed his thoughts waned he began to feel sick, repulsed by his own skin. Dyas still lingered inside of him, slowly pulling away as Obi-wan planted his feet back on the floor. 

The man began rinsing himself off as Obi-wan shirked in the corner of the shower, avoiding any contact with him. It took effort to not collapse where he stood, to curl into a ball and cry himself comatose. He felt himself drift away from reality as he so often had at times at the temple, when his Master had inflicted more than he could handle, when he had felt ways he didn’t know how to explain. 

Or perhaps there was a word for it. Hollow. Empty. There was just nothing left inside. His chest felt vacant of anything that might have held meaning. His thoughts just as lacking for content. It was a state of pure existence, but not in the meditative sense. In the sense that he was void of anything because he held no capacity to feel anything. 

From the void inside himself, he heard the man speak.

“I see why your Master is so taken with you.” Dyas said with a sated cadence to his words. It made Obi-wan’s stomach twist and churn. He have no response to the words, nor did he want to hear any more. He wanted everything to go away, where no one could touch him. Where no one would hurt him. The Sith might not have forcibly taken him, but Obi-wan had hardly given consent, at least not of his own true volition. 

Much to Obi-wan’s relief, the man didn’t say any more. After he was done cleaning up he stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, patting himself dry as he looked on at Obi-wan who still stood hunched in the corner of the shower, eyes locked on the drain below. 

As the Sith left him alone in his quarters, Obi-wan slowly cleaned himself and turned off the shower. The endless white noise of the stream of water hitting the shower floor had been an ambiance of sorts, drowning out anything else that might have taken residence in his mind. Now that it was replaced with silence, as he too toweled off, all he could hear were the shameful words that he had spoken. The pitiful whimpers and moans he had made, all the things he hated so much. All the things that he couldn’t stand the thought of. 

All of it was made so much worse by the one thing he had wanted so much. The title of Jedi Knight, the taste of true freedom. He wanted to help and serve others, to protect people. Once he thought he might have achieved that goal, through less than traditional means, but he had gained the title nonetheless. How wrong he had been.

Qui-gon had been right. Obi-wan could hear the cruel words in his mind as if he had just spoken them. 

_Such foolishness. Pretending to be a Jedi knight. It’s only been one day and already you're letting yourself believe it._

But they were more than just harsh words. The reality of them hit Obi-wan hard. And it was so much worse than that. He wasn’t a Jedi, would never be a Knight. But what he was...

He was a _whore._ A servant to the Sith. A slave to the Dark Side. 

Obi-wan crumpled up on the sleeper. There were no more tears he could shed for himself now, or ever. He didn’t deserve them. He had traded his soul for nothing, for the promise of something he would never receive. 

If he could save Anakin, perhaps he could redeem his soul, even if only by a fraction. It would give a sliver of meaning to his otherwise treacherous life. 

He would save Anakin, if it was the last thing he could accomplish in his pitiful existence. 

He was the Chosen One, afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for concepts and elements of this chapter go to the fic, The Hero With No Fear, written by BB8


	14. Hope

Qui-gon impatiently paced the mouth of the crystal caves as Anakin ventured inside. The boy was too easily attached, timid, not progressing as quickly as Jinn thought he ought to have been. But for all the things he disapproved of, he couldn’t deny the boy’s powerful connection to the force. 

It was more than just an outstanding midichlorian count that put him aside from other Padawans. It was the way the force heeded the boys beck and call in ways he wasn’t even aware of. It were as if the force was an extension of his own will, effortlessly. It was something that took other force users several years of practice to master; such an innate integration. Not even Qui-gon thought himself at the level to even match him. 

Though what Anakin lacked was training and discipline. Without direction, such a connection to the force was more often than not, rendered useless. But as the days passed, Qui-gon was more and more assured in his belief that Anakin was indeed the one he had been looking for. 

He should have been more focused on the task at hand, training the boy. And he was adequately filling his role as Anakin’s Master. But he should have been more invested, more personable with the child. It was a difficult thing to accomplish with Obi-wan’s absence. His thoughts dwelled on his former Padawan. His blood would boil at the thought of others laying hands on him. He was counting down the days until his Master would allow him to take claim to him once again. Though the manner of how he would keep him after Obi-wan's recent bout of disobedience remained undetermined. 

Things wouldn’t be able to return to they way they had been. Obi-wan had made sure of that. There was no way he would be allowed to return to the temple as a Jedi. There was no way he would be able to return at all. It was too risky, Qui-gon knew it. But as with all else, he would find a way.

But the days had been passing ever rapidly, yet painfully slow. There were only five more days left on the lease he had signed with Black Sun. Five more grueling cycles until he would be able to see him again. No longer would he be forced to take to the streets in search of a cheap alternative to the one he wanted so badly. 

Yet arrangements still needed to be made. As Anakin ventured deeper into the Ilum temple, Qui-gon wandered past the bend at the top of the plateau next to the mouth of the cave. Once he was satisfied that the boy had set out on his quest to find his Kyber crystal, Qui-gon withdrew his personal com. Not the one given to him by the Jedi, but the one he had purchased with his own personal credits. That way the Jedi wouldn’t be able to track his communications with his Master. 

His Master. Qui-gon keyed the com to life as it trilled, waiting for the man on the other end to answer his call. Every second he was made to wait eroded the thin worn patience that barely existed to begin with. By the time his Master answered his call, he found his fist clenched hard around the device, causing the plastic casing of the com to creak. 

“Pravus,” the voice answered cheerfully, more so than usual. “How does the boy’s training come along?” He asked in a near conversational tone. 

Qui-gon gritted his teeth. “It goes well. He fetches his Kyber crystal as we speak. Though you know that is not the matter I wish to speak of.” He answered back quickly, coarsely. 

“I suppose it wouldn’t be.” The man answered back distastefully. “You are never so keenly focused on the things you ought to be, are you?” His Master bit back in a chastising manner, making a sound of displeasure. “No, you call to speak of your _pet._ ” 

“There are only five more days on the Lease agreement with Black Sun. Arrangements must be made for Obi-wan’s release. We both know returning to the temple is not an option.” Qui-gon said in a business-like manner. 

“Indeed.” The man said cooly from the other end of the line, a wave of static punctuating the silence between them. “You don’t need to worry about it, apprentice. I have taken care of the situation.” His Master declared with a cutting edge of satisfaction. 

Qui-gon’s aura flared with rage. “You overstep your bounds, Master. We’ve spoken of this before. If you so much as touch a hair on his head, there will be hell to pay.” He ground out, the edges of his composure coming undone. 

The Sith snickered. “He is indeed special, isn’t he? So timid and quiet. So pure. He is everything you lack. That’s why you want him so badly.” He declared arrogantly. 

“It’s none of your concern.” Qui-gon spat. “Where is he?” He demanded, violence humming in the air around him. 

“I imagine he’s asleep. I think I've thoroughly exhausted him. He is a delectable thing, indeed.” His Master said slyly. 

Qui-gon slammed his fist against the icy wall, outraged. “You’ll die for what you’ve done,” he growled. “I warned you what would happen.” He snarled, fighting the gold that would surface in his eyes. He had to keep himself composed for Anakin’s sake. The boy wasn’t ready to embrace the dark, not yet. 

But his Master had crossed a line, one that he had drawn in the sand many years ago. Qui-gon was his. Leasing him to Black Sun was one thing, something he had detested but agreed to ever so reluctantly. After Obi-wan’s defiance, it was hard to justify a lesser punishment. But for his Master to blatantly take him for himself was a slap in the face. An insult he wasn’t willing to stomach. He wasn’t to be trifled with, and Obi-wan wasn’t a cheap whore to be passed around. He was _his,_ and his _alone._

“You need to put things into perspective, apprentice.” Qui-gon’s Master said with an air of authority. “Your pet is nothing but distraction. I could have killed him, yet I let him live as a mercy to you. Serve me well and he will be returned to you. Or let yourself be destroyed by your senseless passion.” 

“There is no mercy, nor to I require it. You’ve overstepped for the last time, Dyas.” Qui-gon said with conviction, all but growling into the com he held in his clenched fist. 

“We shall see. If you are so certain you can best your own Master, come and find me. You know where i’ll be. Oh, and be sure to bring the boy. Once I kill you, I would like to take him in your place, once i’ve ridded myself of you.” Qui-gon’s master chuckled, so certain of his superiority. 

Qui-gon threw the com to the icy ground and smashed it under his boot, stomping on it over and over until it was reduced to tiny bits of plastic and metal crushed into the ice of the ground below. Something inside of himself ached, raged, screamed for blood. 

Tears of what could only be construed as pain or anger welled in Qui-gon’s eyes as he quickly tried to calm himself. Anakin might be finished and on his way out any moment. He couldn’t afford to be so indisposed. But his mind was stuck, images of his Master’s hands on Obi-wan sending him into a blind rage. It took every ounce of will to stay his emotions from consuming his carefully held composure. 

As he he began taking deep breaths, Qui-gon wiped the excess moisture from his eyes. Only seconds after he had calmed himself to a reasonable point, Anakin emerged from the cave. 

Anakin looked pensive, perhaps even a tad frightened as he strode out, keeping a distance from his Master. In his small hands he clutched a sizable Kyber crystal. It gleamed with a faint blue corona that shined from its innermost core. 

Qui-gon cleared his throat, making effort to smile and look pleased. And it was more than an act, he was truly pleased that Anakin had found his crystal, and in good time, too. “Let me see,” Qui-gon insisted, holding out his hand. 

He could feel Anakin’s reservation. Qui-gon had no patience for it. He wanted to wring his hands around the boy’s neck in frustration, the insurmountable pressure and stress of his situation getting to him. It was unacceptable, he needed to be better at compartmentalizing his priorities and objectives. 

Qui-gon sent Anakin a look of distaste in response to his hesitation. It was enough to cause him to slowly reach his small hand out, offering the crystal up for his Master to inspect. As Qui-gon took it in hand, he felt the energy of it overwhelm him. It was bright in the force, nearly supercharged with life. 

“Impressive.” Qui-gon noted, feeling himself calm a fraction as the success of his Padawan became even more apparent. He held the stone in his palm thoughtfully before returning it to Anakin. 

“Now you’ll have some time to work on that reconfiguration of your saber hilt.” Qui-gon noted as the two of them geared up for the climb down. 

“I will do my best, Master.” Anakin answered in a careful voice. There was something different about him, something Qui-gon didn’t have time to ponder over or narrow down. Obi-wan was the only thing that was on his mind. 

“Let’s make with haste, then. There’s someplace I need to be.” Qui-gon said gruffly. 

“Where are we going?” Anakin asked with a tinge of worry. 

“You? You’re going to Barran-Fa, the next stop on our journey. The council mandated our presence there after you retrieved your Kyber crystal.” Qui-gon explained, restating much of what Anakin had already known. “Though once we make landfall, I’ll be needing to run an errand. It will be quick, no need to worry.” He added in feigned reassurance. It was tiresome to have to always be making excuses and shows of the status quo, but his role demanded it. 

“Barran-Fa. What are we supposed to do there anyways? Isn’t it a peaceful world?” Anakin asked in slight exasperation. “Why can’t we just go back to the temple?” 

“It’s a political task, difficult to understand, I know. Not everything is about laser swords and imminent danger.” Qui-gon said with an equal measure of dissatisfaction about his statement. 

“But I want to go back home, Master.” Anakin insisted, stomping his small foot on the icy ground below. “Can’t we just go back home?” 

“No, Anakin. Barran-Fa might be a peaceful world, but they have civil matters that need to be dealt with. There has been a slave trade underground on that world for several years now, and it’s only been getting worse. The Council sent us for the job. We need to keep our eyes open, and get to the bottom of it.” Qui-gon said in the best Masterly voice he knew how to use. 

“Between the two of us, i’m sure we’ll figure it out.” Qui-gon said in a rushed voice as he began to descend the ice cliff. He had more than just a good feeling that they would get to the bottom of the slavery issue. His own Master had been the one to reinforce the scheme to begin with. 

It had been several years now since the government of the land had fallen into a bloody coup. Henrik, a powerthirsty, bloody-handed barron of the world, held delusions of grandeur that shined far greater than his talents would ever grant him. But fools such as himself were easy to manipulate. 

Though the goon was too heavy handed to remain in power, he worked excellently as a crime lord. His style of leadership was much more befitting of a scoundrel than a lord or baron. And where there was underground trade to be had, profits were sure to follow, and Qui-gon along with his Master needed a steady flow of funds to achieve their long term objectives. Just as well, Henrik needed eyes on the inside, to keep the established regime blind to his presence and means of operations. 

How convenient that the ruling Queen of the land was not only a familiar face, but relatively easy to manipulate and coax as well. It had been a matter of his Master’s orchestration along with working around another instance of Obi-wan’s disobedience, but Zaria had risen to power to their benefit. 

It was easy to insist on a Jedi guard while Henrik stood trial for his crimes. It was equally simple to have himself be put on the task. It had been a matter of turning his head at the right time, supplying the means necessary to effectively hide Henrik while made his exit from the palace. 

Everything after that had been easy. Acquire and sell slaves, reap a percentage of the profit as a measure of protection. Assurance that the shuttles exporting their forbidden product wouldn’t be stopped for inspection. In the midst of it he and his Master became richer, their schemes even grander. 

Business had been good, maybe too good. Henrik had gotten greedy, cocky, less careful. Hence Jedi were called to intervene once again. Due to his familiarity with the world and its leader, Qui-gon was chosen for the task before he even knew Zaria had summoned a Jedi team at all. 

Not being summoned back to the temple would work to his advantage in this regard. He wasn’t sure how else he would explain a quick jaunt to the Cassandran system otherwise. But this way, he could take a private civilian transport to remain untraced. No one would be the wiser. As he thought of it, the plan began to solidify in his mind. A steady calm began to resound in his arua. 

He would go and kill his Master, reclaim Obi-wan. Return and brush over the tracks Henrik left uncovered. He would be the Sith Lord supreme, uncontested. 

The two of them made it to the base of the cliff and climbed into the transport. Quickly both of them peeled away their exposure gear until they were once again clad in their Jedi uniforms. 

“I just want to get this all over with so we can go back home.” Anakin said warily. Clearly something was the matter, but Qui-gon had no time to stew on childish affairs. Every moment he squandered was one Obi-wan would be in the clutches of his Master. The clutches of a dead man. 

Yes, Dyas brought it upon himself. Qui-gon was nearly surprised that after all this time, the man would dare to lay a hand on him at all. He felt grossly underestimated. But allowing his Master to put Obi-wan in that horrid facility had clearly emboldened him. He had forgotten where the line lay, he had crossed it as a result. 

The transport slowly rose into the atmosphere. Anakin watched out the viewport with a sense of wonder in his eyes, his aura changed. The essence of him was different, older somehow. It was of little importance. 

Soon he would have Obi-wan again. As the shuttle carried them closer to their destination, it was all he could think of. 

…….

It had been several days since Obi-wan had been ‘rescued’ by the ex-Jedi Master Sifo Dyas, now Sith Lord Darth Novus. Each day had proven to be a small hell within itself. Though for all that he had gone through, the shape of this hell seemed to exist in a different form than he had ever experienced before. 

Never once had Dyas ever truly hurt him, not like Qui-gon would. There were a few stray bruises on his body from the many instances of physical entanglements the two of them had shared since that first night. None of them hurt, and Obi-wan did for once feel he was gaining strength again. Physical strength at least. Mentally he was a mess. 

After that first night when Obi-wan had finished feeling sorry for himself, he had taken to searching the entire ship for a way out. Something, anything would do. Only true to Dyas’s confidence on the matter, not a single means of exit presented itself. None that led to keeping oneself alive, anyways. And that was the primary objective, to escape and rescue Anakin from the clutches of the Monster that would be his Master. 

Obi-wan thought he might have found a way out when their ship had made landfall but the landing pad was attached to a modest estate nestled in an exotic forest. The flora looked strange and lanky, sprawling out over the hilly rises in brilliant colors that extended in all directions. Not another building or sign of advanced life to be seen. 

It was both beautiful and dreadful. He had hoped to land in some city. Some place where he could hide himself, maybe find someone who was skilled enough to pull the inhibitor out of his neck. He might have found a communicator, gotten in touch with the temple. All of these things were seeming far fetched as events unfolded. 

But the temperature was warm, and the serene crooning of the native creatures that resided in the brush of the forest beyond was pleasantly ambient. If only he could enjoy it. Mostly he was trying to rack his brain to figure out what planet they landed on. Not for a lack of effort, he couldn’t even begin to guess at where they were. Perhaps another show of how little prepared he had been to ever take on the rank of Jedi Knight. Another telling sign of what a sham it all had been. 

When they had landed, the Sith Lord began a tour of his estate. It was impressive, not lacking for lavishness in any capacity. There was even a private courtyard in the center with a water fountain and a small well kept garden. Every room had been grand, full of expensive shows of status and power. Rare paintings and art works from every corner of the galaxy mingled among other tokens on display. 

The last room he had shown was his private quarters. Obi-wan felt a sense of dread as he felt the tour come to a close. For as conversational and non threatening the man tried to appear, Obi-wan was under no illusion. He knew all too well, the power the man held over him. Dyas could sense it was so, and was mostly pleased though at times, annoyed by it. 

Dyas wanted Obi-wan to lower his guard, to enjoy himself. That was never going to happen. Every moment he spent forced to endure the Sith’s presence he wondered when the man was going to dose him with that cursed aphrodisiac. When he would be reduced to nothing for the man’s pleasure. Obi-wan’s stomach churned with anxiety, a fear and disgust. 

The source of the drug lie in the implant beneath the skin of his neck, the one keeping the force around him at bay. The one blinding him to the true intentions of others, and all the extrasensory perception he had been privy to his entire life. With a simple touch of force Dyas could, _would_ , flood his veins with as much of the chemical it took to break his will. The Sith had divulged all to him one night on the ship after Obi-wan had satisfied him particularly well, so he stated. 

“Don’t try to tamper with it yourself,” Dyas said with a nonchalant tone as he robed himself after he had finished with him. “You’ll sooner kill yourself trying than you would extract it alone. Besides, I’m getting used to your company. It would be a shame to see you go.” 

The man spoke in a near affectionate voice as he left him. Obi-wan spent that whole night struggling to keep himself focused. Death would be too easy, he couldn’t afford to leave Anakin to suffer needlessly. He couldn’t do it to the boy, not even if it meant suffering himself. He had suffered his whole life, what was a few more days? Weeks? However long it took to accomplish his goal. 

Only Obi-wan hadn’t imagined the estate being so separate from all else. He should have been less optimistic in how easy this was going to be, he thought, as Dyas lead him to his personal quarters. He felt a warmth flood his veins. Over the last few days it had become a familiar sensation.

It became the centerpiece of his stay with Dyas, the feigned freedom. He was allowed to wander about as he pleased throughout the estate. The Sith didn’t even attempt to keep him from going outside. If he ever sensed Obi-wan travel too far, with one tiny manipulation to the implant Dyas could send him deep into the throes of physical desire, the kind that wrenched his insides and made it hard to breathe. 

This had happened twice since Obi-wan arrived. Once on the first day, and again during the second night. Obi-wan thought he might have been able to escape if the Sith was sleeping. Perhaps a Sith never slept. His plan had been foiled all the same.

It was dreadful when his basest self overtook him, sending a desperation throughout his body worse than any parched thirst or ravenous hunger. Dyas would make him crawl, beg, plead before he gave him relief. He could see the Sith revel in his cries, in the pain. The torn heart and ravaged mind within his body that would so easily betray him at the man’s behest. 

The days seemed to blend into one another, as they so often did while in captivity. It didn’t matter if he could wander about. He was as much a prisoner as he ever had been in his life, regardless of how well he seemed to be treated. And he had to admit, the luxuries of living in Dyas's estate were hardly insignificant.

Dyas had taken a liking to doting on Obi-wan, as much as it could be considered doting. Whether it be an elaborate meal prepared, a new set of clothing in colors he knew Obi-wan preferred, or a vase of freshly cut flowers from the courtyard garden. Every day was met with a new luxury or show of affection that left Obi-wan feeling ashamed and disgusted. 

And every day he searched for some way he would be able to make contact with the temple. Maybe he could talk one of the guards or servants into helping him escape. Only it seemed every member of the staff was mute, or perhaps didn’t understand galactic basic. Obi-wan had tried talking to them in a number of different languages he had picked up during his time in temple classes. The staff responded to none of them. 

So he waited, looking for a break in the pattern of monotony. Obi-wan had thought he could perhaps charm his way out of the Sith’s clutches, but it too had proven futile. 

One morning after a brisk session, Obi-wan stifled the urge to slink away from the man. While Dyas moved to get up and clean himself, Obi-wan pulled him back down onto the soft mattress of his bed instead. Every bit of his skin cringed at the show, the act he was putting on. But all else had failed. What else was he to do? He couldn’t give up.

The Sith’s eyes glinted in that brilliant golden color, flecks of illuminating crystal deep within them sparkling back. Obi-wan forced a smile onto his face before he spoke. “Leaving so soon?” He said, wishing he could have hidden the nervousness in his eyes better. He was sure the man could see right through him. 

Dyas looked back at him with a look of intrigue through squinted eyes as he allowed himself to be pulled back down. “Not if you want me to stay,” he said, searching Obi-wan’s gaze 

“What is it you do all day, anyways? For a Sith Lord with grand plans, I would have thought you more busy.” Obi-wan said, more timid with his words. 

The golden eyes went darker as a smile curled at the edges of the man’s mouth. “Never too busy to spend a little quality time.” 

His words were threats, like a sharp knife held at his throat. Obi-wan’s heart pounded against his ribs as he thought quickly about his next words. Something to pry information, but not too obviously. “It must be hard to keep things in order from all the way out here,” Obi-wan said, suggesting their location in the sparse outer rim. He hoped the man’s words would be telling. If not that, maybe some expression to say whether he was correct or not. “No, someone powerful like you must have others to do the work for you.” 

“And some things must be done by my own hand.” Darth Novus smiled, almost kindly. 

Obi-wan took a breath, about to probe further, but was stopped when Dyas placed a finger on his lips. “Don’t.” He said with a sympathetic shine to his eyes. “I know what your trying to do.” He said as he rose up from the sleeper, promptly making his exit towards the fresher. 

Obi-wan had been right. He was entirely transparent to the Sith Lord. Every corner of his mind on display at a glance. It was a haunting feeling to be so defeated in an instant, without a single unkind word or act of violence. 

Between the shameful and equally fleeting moments of chemical driven passion between Dyas and himself, Obi-wan spent most of his time in the courtyard trying his best to meditate. The water fountain was a symbol of warm familiarity; it reminded him much of the room of a thousand fountains in the Jedi temple on Coruscant. 

Which, wasn’t the pleasant reminder it might have been at a time. The last time he had meditated there, a voice had spoken to him. It had given him pieces to forge his broken self back together. Now as he sat before the fountain in Dyas’s estate, Obi-wan felt a bitterness rise up in his heart. 

The voice had given him a mission- train Anakin. He didn’t believe he was worthy of it then, he most certainly didn’t believe it now. Now, if he did have access to the force, what might that voice say? He would scream back at it with all his might, declare the damned lies it spoke. 

In his slow boiling anger Obi-wan felt a stinging in his neck, the metal of the inhibitor reacting to his pull to the force. The harder he reached, the worse the pain became, until he was forced to relent. 

Hot tears stung at his eyes as he felt the pain in his neck, hot under his flesh. It burned but slowly waned, while the ache deep in his chest remained. An ever present reminder of the missing pieces of himself he wasn’t sure would ever mend to the whole. 

Then, another sensation. Humiliating, ever present in his time under the Sith Lord known as Novus. The burning need presented itself, an answer to his boldness to reach into the void where the force might have existed. A punishment to keep him in his place. Obi-wan rose up from his place by the fountain and sauntered towards the Sith’s quarters. He found him there, waiting. 

The commonplace act of undressing before another had been an uncomfortable staple of his existence for too long. Dyas smiled as Obi-wan revealed himself, wise enough to know any attempt to hold out would make everything just that much longer. Better to get things over and done with. That was another pervasive lesson he had learned long ago. 

And a useful lesson it was. Just as always the Sith went to the fresher to shower after he had been sated. Obi-wan lie under the thick blankets on the sleeper, wishing he could disappear within them. 

After he showered, Dyas donned one of his silk robes and sat at the veranda that overlooked one of the sloping hillsides as the sun began to set, casting an otherworldly glow of magenta and bright orange over the landscape. Obi-wan rose and took his turn in the shower, quickly cleaning himself several times over before he toweled off and put on his sleep clothes. The Sith Lord had ordered them made special for him, another token of affection he was weary of accepting. All the same there was no denying how he preferred being clothed. Especially since Dyas insisted they share a bed.

Obi-wan collapsed under the covers again while the Sith sipped on one of his exotic spiced wines as he did most nights. He nearly had fallen asleep when the Sith’s com link trilled. A sound he hadn’t heard since they had landed. Maybe if he could manage to snag it from him while he was sleeping, he might be able to com the temple. Obi-wan’s mind was churning with ideas, until he heard the voice from the other side of the link. 

His mind went blank with panic and his heart threatened to burst through his ribs as he hid under the blankets, eavesdropping on their conversation. There was no doubt at all in Obi-wan’s mind that Novus knew he was awake, listening. All the same the Sith acted as if he wasn’t there at all. 

“Pravus, how does the boy’s training come along?” Dyas asked. Obi-wan could hear the rogue smile on the man’s face.

“It goes well. He fetches his Kyber crystal as we speak. Though you know that is not the matter I wish to speak of.” Obi-wan could hear the veil between his Master’s rage and the placid quality to the words he spoke. It put a fear in his heart he had been happy to forget. 

“I suppose it wouldn’t be. You are never so keenly focused on the things you ought to be, are you?” Novus answered back in a tone of strong disapproval. “No, you call to speak of your _pet._ ” 

“There are only five more days on the Lease agreement with Black Sun. Arrangements must be made for Obi-wan’s release. We both know returning to the temple is not an option.” Qui-gon said insistently yet respectful in his cadence. Obi-wan’s heart pounded with dread. He could never return to the temple, that was what his Master said. It had struck him as no surprise but to hear the words hurt all the same. 

“Indeed.” Novus paused. Obi-wan could hear another kind of smile take shape on his face. “You don’t need to worry about it, apprentice. I have taken care of the situation.” He spoke, his words drenched with meaning. 

“You overstep your bounds, Master. We’ve spoken of this before. If you so much as touch a hair on his head, there will be hell to pay.” Qui-gon growled. Obi-wan’s flesh cringed. He could feel the violence in his Master’s words. In that moment Obi-wan wondered how many times Qui-gon had hurt him because of of Novus’s provocation? He didn’t want to know. 

“He is indeed special, isn’t he? So timid and quiet. So pure. He is everything you lack. That’s why you want him so badly.” Novus shot back, his words definite and solid. The declaration seemed both a compliment and insult all at the same time. 

“It’s none of your concern. Where is he?” Qui-gon demanded. If Obi-wan closed his eyes he would be able to see the look of pure hatred on his Master’s face, even if he was an entire galaxy away. He thought he could even feel the man’s aura humming with sadistic violence. 

“I imagine he’s asleep. I think I've thoroughly exhausted him. He is a delectable thing, indeed.” Novus said slyly. Obi-wan nestled deeper in the covers. The Sith knew he wasn’t asleep, knew he would be helpless to do anything but listen. 

A crushing sound ground out in the background before Qui-gon snarled into his com. “You’ll die for what you’ve done. I warned you what would happen.” He threatened, losing any trace of composure. Obi-wan didn’t think he had heard him so angered, ever. The Sith’s words echoed again in his mind, cursing his soul. _He would give up everything, for you._

“You need to put things into perspective, apprentice. Your pet is nothing but a distraction. I could have killed him, yet I let him live as a mercy to you. Serve me well and he will be returned to you. Or let yourself be destroyed by your senseless passion.” Novus said calmly in measured words. Obi-wan felt outraged. Of course it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he would be spoken of in such terms. Something to be given or taken as reward or punishment. All he had ever been was a possession.

“There is no mercy, nor to I require it. You’ve overstepped for the last time, Dyas.” Qui-gon growled, a serene defiance in his words. 

“We shall see. If you are so certain you can best your own Master, come and find me. You know where i’ll be. Oh, and be sure to bring the boy. Once I kill you, I would like to take him in your place, once i’ve ridded myself of you.” Novus chuckled. Obi-wan heard the com link whine and cut out. 

Anakin. No, he couldn’t bring him. He wouldn’t, would he? No, it wouldn’t serve Qui-gon’s purpose. Obi-wan shuddered at what he had just heard. He was coming here, to slay his own Master to reclaim _him_. Novus thought it a meaningless statement, or he truly thought he could best him. Obi-wan had never seen Novus in combat but had seen his Master in action enough to know there was no stopping him. He could slay entire armies single handedly if he wanted to. 

Part of his frayed soul felt gratified again. Finally there was proof that his Master cared about him in some way. But it was met with an equal disgust. Anakin was more important than feeding his broken sense of self worth. Anakin was all that mattered. Somehow, someway, he would find a way to save him. Now the monotony of Novus’s routines would be broken. Qui-gon would arrive, and with him would be a chance to liberate himself one last time, to save Anakin. 

His heart swelled with hope at the thought, then he quickly quashed it. He couldn’t afford Novus to sense it. Hope. Obi-wan felt a small smile rise on his lips. Hope. It was a light that shone on the shattered remains of his soul, but it shone within him nonetheless. He hid it, relished in it like warm rays of sunlight after too long in the dark. It was his precious secret, a promise and a question that terrified him. 

Hope, it belonged to him and him alone. Something for himself, no- for Anakin. That there could be something better in the end. For now, in secret he would allow himself that one small thing.


End file.
